


P&T Muggle Adventures

by VivacissimoVoce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Falling In Love, Friendship, Grimmauld Place, Humor, London, M/M, Muggle Life, Muggles, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:27:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivacissimoVoce/pseuds/VivacissimoVoce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Thomas and Harry Potter start a leisure business for wizards that specializes in giving tours of muggle London.  Everything goes well until they receive a booking neither one of them wants to take. Harry embarks upon what he suspects will be the worst trip of his life.  Contains mature language and sexual content.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling. I do not claim any ownership of the characters or settings contained within. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Diagon Alley was alive with activity. The late afternoon August sun slanted over the rooftops and set the cobbled street aglow as vendors hawked their wares and families darted from shop to shop with their back-to-school lists in hand. Piles of cauldrons spilled out onto the walkway, cages of owls added a rustle and coo to the thrum and buzz of the crowd of wizards. Everywhere one looked there were happy faces, alive with the delights of the shop-lined street. 

In the midst of the hustle and bustle was one face, not alive with delight, but rather exhausted and weighed down with a lumpy pack of supplies and a smudge of dirt across his forehead. Harry Potter trudged up Diagon Alley towards the most meager shopfront the district had to offer. A wooden shingle dangled from an iron bracket above the door to the narrow business. It read “P&T Muggle Adventures” in hand-carved, burnished lettering. Harry hefted his heavy pack and shoved the door open with his hip, stumbling through with his awkward load. Dean Thomas jumped to his feet and braced Harry’s arm before he could tumble across the threshold. The pack landed with a thud and a host of camping supplies clattered and rattled and rolled across the time-worn wood plank floor. Harry flopped into one of two wingback chairs that practically filled the lobby and lolled his head against the cushion.

“Not there,” Dean frowned. “You’ll get the upholstery dirty.”

Harry cursed under his breath and dragged himself behind the counter to the rolling office chair.

“Didn’t go well?” Dean asked mildly.

“It went fine,” Harry sighed. “Except I’m not much of a camper, and they certainly weren’t ready to rough it.”

“The brochure explained the experience,” Dean plucked a tri-fold glossy pamphlet from the pile on the desk. “Were we not clear enough?”

“We were clear,” Harry removed his glasses and deposited them onto the laminate countertop. “But we may be overestimating what wizards are willing to consider ‘roughing it.’”

“Too rough?” Dean cocked his head. “Maybe we should stick to the London excursions, then. Table the camping package for now.”

“Agreed,” Harry hauled himself out of the chair and scooped the camping supplies back into the sack. He grunted and heaved it up onto his shoulder and then stumbled his way up the stairs to the small flat he and Dean shared above the shop. He dumped the pack onto the courtyard balcony, then took a quick shower and collapsed onto his bed. His room overlooked the busy street below, and with the window cracked he could close his eyes and listen to the comforting cacophony of his new home. At times he felt it was poetic, Diagon Alley had been his first introduction to the wizarding world, it was fitting that he would come back here to start his life after Hogwarts.

After the war the recent Hogwarts graduates of Harry’s class had been thrust unprepared into the adult wizarding community. Their frayed nerves and dreadful common experiences had made them close. Somehow it was easier to be around people who knew what it was like to face the Dark Lord and to be tortured at the hands of Death Eaters, even if they didn’t talk about it at all. So they clung to each other for support and for a sense of community and for the sheer necessity of friendship. They met every Friday night at the Leaky Cauldron for a pint and fellowship, for laughs and sometimes tears. They had lost so many friends and loved ones during the war, and this weekly gathering ensured they wouldn’t lose each other, too.

When Dean had mentioned his idea for a muggle-style holiday adventure for wizards, everyone had laughed. But as they joked about the mundane, non-magical things he would include, they realized there might be something to it. Ron was their test subject, having little experience in muggle culture. Words like cinema, Tube, launderette, and DIY meant nothing to him, and he asked wonderingly what they were as ideas floated around the table. The more they told him, the more he wanted to learn. And after a while it didn’t seem like such a hilarious notion, it seemed like a plausible venture.

What Dean lacked was the capital to launch such an endeavor. That happened to be exactly what Harry could provide. Plus he had a muggle background and more than a passing familiarity with muggle culture. And since the war had sucked the desire to become an Auror right out of him, he had no other plans. He had spent the first year after Hogwarts as a lazy layabout with no goals and no ambition. He could choose to continue on that path or he could fund this startup with Dean and make an honest go of it. He chose the latter.

“Harry,” Dean tapped politely on his door. “I’ve got a last minute reservation for next weekend. Is the house ready?”

“Yes,” Harry called without opening his eyes. “Sort of. I’m heading over there tomorrow to check the patch-work in the foyer, and the pantry needs to be stocked up. But other than that it’s ready.”

“Good,” Dean said. “I’ll have them book it.”

“Brilliant,” Harry smiled sleepily. They had only been open for two months but they were already starting to bring in customers. Just a few, and they were still working out the kinks, which meant they gave out more discounts than they could afford, but it was something. He fell asleep before the sun was down, and dreamed fitfully of trying to light a campfire with nothing but kindling and matches.

The next morning Dean had pastries and coffee set out on the counter, which Harry gratefully gulped down before heading downstairs. His business partner was already behind the counter, tapping the keys of an old secondhand laptop computer. There was no connectivity in Diagon Alley so they had to keep a drawer of charged batteries to run the thing, but they had agreed it would add to the adventure if they started their customers' muggle experience in the shop. So they had stocked the cramped space with a computer, office supplies, glossy printed pamphlets with non-moving images, and they dressed in muggle clothing for the world outside.

"What’s that you’re working on?" Harry asked as he checked the supply closet for his jacket.

"Pricing out a couple of new package ideas," Dean muttered thoughtfully, his mind focused and occupied with the spreadsheet on the screen. Harry sipped his coffee and leaned over Dean's shoulder.

"Dairy farm?" He grunted in surprise. "We don't have a farm."

"I thought we could piggyback on a muggle farm and add a surcharge for our guests. If we get enough interest we might be able to negotiate a lower rate with the location and keep more profit."

Harry stepped back and eyed his partner appraisingly. "How'd you get so smart about this sort of thing?"

"Dunno," Dean smiled slightly, his eyes still fixed on the screen. "Just sort of made sense."

"You really think wealthy wizard families will pay to milk cows and collect eggs?"

"We'll be clear in the brochure," Dean reassured him.

Harry grimaced. He thought of the previous weekend, stuck in the woods with six pompous, wandless witches and wizards who expected him to do everything. He didn't relish the idea of wrangling livestock on behalf of rich clientele.

Dean was, without question, the brains of the operation. Harry was more of a man of action, which meant he was usually on the hook for leading the excursions. He didn't mind the London trips, though they'd only had three so far. The camping package, on the other hand, was miserable.

"I'm also going to price out a premium package," Dean finally swiveled in the chair to look at Harry. "Still a full muggle experience, but we'll opt for nicer restaurants and transportation, and maybe a luxury box at the football stadium. High society stuff."

"I'm not sure I can do high society," Harry winced.

"No problem, we'll take an etiquette class," Dean grinned.

"I'm heading over to Grimmauld. Need anything while I'm out?"

"Bring me a latte on your way back," Dean turned back to the computer.

"I might not be back until late." Harry said.

"I don't care. I just want one."

Harry chuckled as he tossed a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace at the back of the shop and stepped through. He stepped out into the drawing room of the house at 12 Grimmauld Place, his most significant capital investment in the business.

The biggest challenge he and Dean had faced at start-up was figuring out how to move wizarding families into muggle London with ease and comfort. They couldn't just Apparate in their robes and capes and peaked hats without attracting attention, and many would find the outside world intimidating if dropped directly into the bustling city. While some magic folk were able to travel through the muggle world without detection, many families had chosen isolation to avoid the discomfort of adapting to a whole different society. The house on Grimmauld Place provided a safe haven, an easy place to adjust before setting out into the world, and with its many bedrooms it made for quite comfortable lodging. It was more than just a place to stay the night, it was a refuge for the overwhelmed.

The problem was that the house had been trashed by Death Eaters at the peak of the war. When the fighting was over, after Sirius had died, after Harry had died and come back, after Voldemort's followers had been rounded up and accounted for, Harry had been left with little more than a shell of a house to his name.

At first he had considered abandoning it. Too much work and too many memories. Technically he could have gifted it to Andromeda Tonks as the rightful inheritor of the House of Black. But Sirius had left it to him, and walking away from his inheritance would have felt like a betrayal. And then Dean had his bright idea to launch a muggle themed leisure service and the house had a purpose once again.

They had put a lot of blood, sweat, and charms into the refurbishing. And because there was only so much a good Reparo could do, some things had to be fixed by hand. They sanded and refinished the floors, painted the walls, and Scourgified the rugs. They replaced the bedroom furnishings and rid the place of its strange collection of accursed and enchanted objects, many of which found their way into the cabinet of curiosities that dominated the Headmistress' office at Hogwarts.

Fixing up the old house had taken a significant investment but in the end it was a sight to behold. Or rather, it would be when the last revision was complete. There was the small matter of the foyer to deal with first.

At some point in the house's history someone, although no one knew who, had thought it would be a good idea to permanently affix a portrait of Walburga Black just across from the entryway, to greet visitors in her own particular and not terribly welcoming way. Walburga had been the family matriarch prior to her passing, and the house had surely felt empty without her presence. But Walburga had been an opinionated sort, as many of the House of Black were, and her favorite axe to grind was the maddening matter of muggles.

At first they tiptoed around her portrait, hoping not to set her off on a screaming rant about blood purity. But twice, once each on a London booking, one of the excited guests had uttered the m-word in the foyer and Walburga had shrieked until Harry hung a sheet over the frame.

What is one to do when one is burdened with the politically controversial opinions of a dead pureblood portrait that is permanently stuck to the wall? One takes down the wall. Ron and Harry had spent the previous week cutting down the wall on which the painting hung, and then repairing the hole before Harry had to leave for his rather unpleasant four-day camping trip. Now he needed to check the work and put down a coat of paint so he could call it done.

He skipped down the stairs to the ground floor and eyed the patch job critically. They'd actually done a rather nice job for a couple of inexperienced handymen who’d had to learn as they went. The texture was smooth and once the paint was dry they could hang new artwork and cover any remaining flaws.

He took his time painting, a bit nervous up on the ladder as he stretched to reach the edge of the crown moulding. When he was finished he had sprinkles and splatters of buttercream yellow all over his skin and clothes. He went out and bought groceries without cleaning up and then applied a second coat of paint.

He pulled out his mobile to check the time and wondered what he should do with his afternoon. It was too late to call on Hermione and Ron and see if they wanted to grab dinner. It was too early to head back to the flat for the night, especially since Dean and Ginny had resparked their relationship and she would undoubtedly be there. He wasn't jealous, he knew himself better now and knew she wasn't right for him. But the idea of spending the evening listening to them sweet talk each other made him nauseated. He turned on the telly and watched something mindless for a while, fixed himself a quick supper and washed his dishes.

He reveled in the unspectacularly mundane tasks. This was his house, he cared for it with his own two hands, he cooked his own meals. No spells backfiring, no mysterious potions, and no one died when the pot of rice boiled over. Since the war had ended he found himself seeking the safe comforts of the non-magical, at least for a few days at a time.

When night fell he decided to clean up and pop out for a quick pint, and told himself he wouldn’t stay out late this time. Using the one magical convenience he couldn’t live without he Apparated to an alley just down the road from his favorite venue, a club by the name of The Magic Hat. He appreciated the irony.

It was busy for a Monday night, which Harry guessed must have something to do with the nearby university starting up its fall semester soon. His pulse quickened in anticipation. Lots of new people to meet, if he was lucky. He ran his hand through his hair to tame the mess a bit and approached the bouncer.

"Harry!" The burly fellow in the fitted t-shirt hugged him with one strong arm. "Never mind this lot, go on in."

"Thanks, Steve," Harry patted him on the shoulder and entered to the distress of the people waiting in line. He squeezed between a pair of wallflowers that crowded the entrance and felt himself relax as the thrumming beat of pop music washed over him. He didn't recognize the song, he hadn't been back long enough to be up on current hits, but it brought a pleased smile to his lips.

It wasn't crowded compared to the weekend, but for a Monday it was over the top. It took Harry two tries to claim a stool at the bar as the men around him scrambled for service. He craned his neck to see who was working and caught sight of the person he was looking for.

"Harry!" The bartender called as he mixed a gin and tonic for an impatient boy in a fedora.

"Alright, Colin?" Harry called back.

"A bit busy but what can you do?" Colin winked. He pulled a lager and placed it in front of Harry without asking. He leaned across the bar and deposited a kiss on Harry's cheek, stubble rasping lightly across his own.

"When do you get off?" Harry hoped the low lighting was enough to conceal his blush. The question had sort of slipped out on its own, in spite of his recent vow to stop asking.

"Here till close," Colin ignored the throng of young men trying to place orders. He leaned forward on his fingertips and eyed Harry with interest. "Haven't see you in days."

"I've been busy," Harry ducked his head evasively. "Work, DIY, that sort of thing."

"Well" Colin pulled a drink for one of his agitated customers. "I've missed seeing you."

"Yeah," Harry took a long drink and kept his response noncommittal. They had been down this road before. Colin was a free spirit who didn't want to be tied down. Harry didn't mind a little free-for-all but he was more interested having in a relationship. Colin had put the kibosh on that notion right away, and Harry had taken way too long to accept that.

"Hi," a slim blond boy slipped between Harry and Colin, interrupting their line of sight. He looked to be around Harry's age, built entirely out of angles. He nodded to Harry's beer, "Been trying to get one of those all night," he said.

"Are you cozying up to me because I know the bartender?" Harry asked with mild amusement.

"No," the boy looked offended, then winked.

"Colin," Harry called again. He pointed at the blond boy and held up two fingers. Colin smirked and slid two lagers over to them. Harry knocked his first one back and picked up the second. He nodded for the blond boy to follow and made his way to the dance floor.

They danced with their glasses held carefully so as not to spill. The other boy hugged up close, grinding his hips against Harry's in a way he felt was a little too easy. Easy turned him off.

The boy finished his drink in four big swallows and dashed to a table to set his glass down. Then he dashed back and wrapped his arms around Harry's neck with a seductive gleam in his eye. He swayed to the beat, pressing his groin against Harry's and threading his fingers through his hair. He slid his hands to Harry's face and tried to remove his glasses, but Harry reeled back and frowned disapprovingly, eliciting a cowed pout from the other boy.

"You have beautiful eyes," the boy leaned forward and shouted in Harry's ear to be heard over the throbbing bass.

Harry didn't answer. He finished his beer and handed it to the other boy to set down. The boy complied happily, which was another turnoff. But he was rather good looking and clearly up for it, and Harry wasn't in the mood to turn down an offer, and Colin wasn’t available, and Harry had vowed to stop pursuing him anyway, so when he returned and tugged Harry's hand towards the loo, Harry didn't resist.

The boy gave a mediocre blowie, too much saliva, not enough pressure. Harry leaned against the graffitied wall of the cubicle and looked down at his busy head, one hand working the base of Harry's knob while the other hand worked his own. He liked the blond hair, always a preference if he had the option, but the eagerness to please did nothing for him. He ran one hand through the boy's hair and squinted.

Dark roots. Dye job. Meh.

He closed his eyes and thought of other men, and he was able to come without too much trouble. The boy on his knees spat delicately into the toilet and wiped his mouth with a square of bogroll before mopping up his own mess. He finally stood and dropped a quick, tight kiss on Harry's mouth, then winked and exited without fanfare. Harry sighed and thudded his head against the cubicle wall, grateful that he hadn't had to come up with an excuse to withhold his name and phone number.

He had only done a restroom hookup a few times, enough to know they rarely met his expectations. At first he had gotten off on the sheer naughtiness of it, the taboo of the same-sex stranger in a public space doing things he'd only felt safe fantasizing about. But now that he knew there was a whole community of like-minded men who weren't ashamed, the thrill of the forbidden had dried up. Now he wanted more. Unfortunately, the only man he had met so far who he wanted more with preferred to keep things open.

Harry had unintentionally become a regular at The Magic Hat four months ago, hooking up with Colin whenever he was agreeable, hoping every time that it would lead to something, but ultimately it lead nowhere. For a while he told himself that it was better than nothing. He knew well enough to play it cool, to pretend he was fine with it, but Colin’s flightiness tended to make him a bit miserable. Tonight, in spite of this self-awareness, he felt a bit miserable.

He made his way through the crowd to the bar so he could settle his tab. He tried not to grimace when he saw Colin leaning attentively towards a lean brunet man with a pencil thin mustache. He waited patiently and smiled bravely when Colin finally noticed his presence.

"Leaving already?" he asked as he accepted Harry's cash.

"Painted all day," Harry said ruefully. "I'm beat."

"How's life otherwise? Good?"

"Going great," Harry said with false brightness. "Just got back from a camping trip. Got another outing reserved for this weekend."

"Sounds like business is picking up," Colin tipped his head approvingly. He knew Harry ran a leisure venture, if not the details.

"Going great," Harry nodded, wincing internally at his repetition.

"I'll see you around, then," Colin reached out and caressed Harry's ear. "Don't be a stranger."

"Goodnight," Harry backed away and pushed through the crowd to the door.

He told himself he was fine. He'd had a couple of drinks, got an okay BJ from a good looking blond, and that wasn't bad for a quick outing. But the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach denied him the satisfaction of self-delusion. He wasn't fine. He wasn't sure why not, but he was not. And that was doubly not fine.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean and Ginny were asleep on the sitting room sofa when Harry got back to the flat. He stumbled out of the fireplace with a satchel full of recharged laptop batteries and crept to his room so as not to wake them. He feared he reeked of bog-sex and he wasn't yet ready to explain himself to his business partner and his ex-girlfriend.

The next morning he and Dean hit a home decor shop and picked up a large mirror. They managed to get it most of the way into the trunk of a taxi and brought it back to the house. Hanging it in the foyer was a bit challenging but in the end it looked perfectly passable and quite appropriate for the lofty, chandelier lit space.

"I'll take this weekend's lot if you do next week's," Dean said as he cruised through the kitchen to check the restocked pantry.

"What's included for next week?"

"Everything," Dean withdrew his mobile and checked the text file he used to track reservations on the go. "Shops, Parliament, football, dining, DIY, museums."

"How many days?"

"Five," Seamus raised an eyebrow. "They want to fit a lot in."

Harry gave Dean a disgusted look. "I did the camping trip. You're taking an easy 3-dayer and then sticking me with a 5-dayer."

"It just worked out that way," Dean raised his hands innocently. Harry grumbled but didn’t argue. For some reason it seemed like it always worked out that way.

The weekend guests showed up early on Thursday, while Harry was out front Scourgifying bird droppings from the front step of the shop. They were located between an owl healer and a milliner that sold extravagant pointed hats and enchanted bonnets. P&T Muggle Adventures occupied a long shotgun style unit that could practically be spanned with arms outstretched. It was easy to miss if one wasn't paying attention, partly because the shops on either side employed much larger shingles that obscured their signage. It wasn’t much, but it was all they could afford on their savings until business picked up.

Harry's dream was to earn enough income to acquire the space next door to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. They would get great foot traffic, and wizards returning from a magic-free trip would gravitate towards the spectacular wonders of George's shop. And it would keep him close to the goings on of the Weasley family, who tended to pass through frequently to visit their successful kin.

He knew their guests before they spoke, five posh witches, maybe a few years older than him. They were wearing the exquisite and garish robes that only the very wealthy bothered to afford, and each was prettier than the last. Suddenly Harry knew why Dean had volunteered for this trip. He didn’t know whether to be more annoyed that Dean, who had no knowledge of his sexual preferences, had taken this job without a second thought, or that he was doing so while Ginny would be waiting faithfully at home.

“Pardon me,” one of the girls raised her eyebrow pompously. “Is this P&T Muggle Adventures?”

“Yes it is,” Harry pointed up at the sign above his head and smiled lopsidedly.

The girl glanced up and harrumphed. One of her friends, a sweet thing with honey blond hair, squinted at Harry and tapped her lips with her index finger. “I know you,” she said.

Here it comes, Harry thought.

“Oh Merlin, you’re Harry Potter!” a devilishly gorgeous girl with raven black hair exclaimed from the back of the group. “Show us your scar!”

Harry sheepishly pushed his hair back and revealed the lightning shaped mark. He had to show it every time he was recognized, which was virtually every time he went out. He often wondered if he should just shave his head so it would be on display at all times.

“I read you missed the deadline to sign up for Auror training,” the first girl said with the sparkle of celebrity in her eye.

“The Daily Prophet is doing a series on your career options,” the honey blond girl said.

“Have any of the articles mentioned running my own leisure business as an option?” Harry asked, trying to keep the sharp edge out of his voice.

“No,” the five girls said in unison.

“You’re the P in P&T!” the first girl said as though it were an epiphany. “You should put your whole name on the sign! You’d bring in so much business!”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Harry smiled mildly as he opened the door to allow them to enter.

“Are you coming with us?” the black haired girl asked hopefully.

“You will be traveling with my partner, Dean Thomas,” Harry gestured over their heads to his friend, who was sitting behind the laptop, probably for show.

“Oh he’s a handsome one, too,” the first girl said.

Harry closed the door behind them and stowed his wand. The sidewalk was clear enough and he wanted to get away from their fawning guests. He wandered down the road, weaving between shoppers and wondering if he shouldn’t have brought along a handful of glossy brochures to hand out as he walked.

Without thinking he stopped off at George’s shop and went inside to see if Ron was about. He was, looking miserable as an angry mother demanded a refund for a trick that had left multicolored blotches on her four children’s faces.

“They’re supposed to be identical!” she shrieked. “Identical quadruplets! Do you know how rare that is? And now look at them, perfectly distinguishable, every one of them!”

“Madam, I assure you the effects will wear off in a day or so,” Ron held up his hands appeasingly. He caught sight of Harry and his eyes bugged out in a desperate plea for help. “Look!” he called. “It’s Harry Potter! The Boy who Lived!”

The mother and her four children whirled around and squealed in delight at the sight of him. They rushed him as a pack and begged for autographs. One of the children darted outside and returned with a stack of Daily Prophets that bore his photo on the front page. They crammed the papers into his hands and asked him to sign one for each of them.

Harry looked down at the paper in his hands, flinching as the photo of himself smiled back and cocked his head in a friendly manner. It must have been lifted from a school photo, because he certainly hadn’t posed for the Daily Prophet. The headline read, “Harry Potter’s Future: Part Four.” He stifled a groan. How many parts could they squeeze out of this non-story?

He made small talk with the woman and her children and obediently signed the papers. Anger forgotten, they shuffled out of the shop with their autographs clutched tightly to their chests. Harry glared daggers at Ron.

“I’m sorry, mate,” Ron laughed apologetically. “But I really needed a distraction.”

“What are you doing here today?” Harry leaned on the counter and poked through a jar of charmed doodads.

“George had a toothache and had to go to the healer,” Ron shrugged. “Classes don’t start for two weeks so I offered to cover.”

“Are you coming to the Cauldron tomorrow?”

“Always do,” Ron paused to ring up a customer. “Will you be in town or will you be out on another trip?”

“I’m free this weekend, out the next,” Harry sighed. “There’s one going out today but Dean offered to take it,” he rolled his eyes, remembering his annoyance. “It’s a group of five girls. Very talented, if you know what I mean.”

Ron bid his customer farewell and looked confused. “What do you care about the talent?”

“He didn’t even offer it to me.”

“So?” Ron was still confused. “You’re not into girls anyway.”

“But he doesn’t know that!” Harry exclaimed, finally saying aloud the irritating thought that had bothered him earlier. “As far as he knows, I would love to take that trip. And besides, what would your sister say?”

“She knows he’s loyal,” Ron said dismissively. “Dean is the most honest, honorable guy from our class. He’s not going to do anything, talent or not.”

“He still should have offered,” Harry muttered.

He hung around for a couple of hours, helping out here and there as he could. Hermione showed up around supper time to collect her boyfriend for the night. She hugged Harry tightly and was as unruffled by the news of Dean’s outing as Ron was. They walked him back to the shop and he realized belatedly that he should have probably manned the desk after Dean’s departure. An abandoned storefront wasn’t much good for growing business.

Between outings Harry usually had too much time on his hands, which he didn’t tend to use well. He wandered around a lot. He visited his friends and more often than not interrupted them at their places of employment when they didn’t have time to talk. He cleaned a lot, he cooked a lot, he played a lot of solitaire on the office laptop, and sometimes he popped over to The Magic Hat because what else was he to do with his nights?

But on Friday, as he did every Friday, he made his way to the Leaky Cauldron like he was drawn by a magnet. He was first one there, and he made sure to secure the large table in the corner that would seat however many friends chose to show up. He nursed his first pint, knowing it would be a long night of drinking and it was no fun to be the first one pissed.

Seamus showed up next, a huge smile splitting his face as he flopped down into a chair with a drink in hand. He had procured a job at Nimbus, learning the craft of building world-class broomsticks for leisure and sport. The job required strength as well as skill and he had put on a lot of muscle since graduation. If he drank enough he was likely to end the evening by hoisting his female friends up into the air to show off his strength.

Luna arrived next, as willowy and blissful as ever. As anyone could have predicted she spent her days traveling about the countryside, hunting elusive mythical creatures and writing for the Quibbler. Harry wasn’t sure how she made a living, though. He couldn’t imagine circulation was large enough to pay the bills. But as with anything in Luna’s life, it all somehow came together. He’d always been envious of her ability to just let things happen. He couldn’t let things happen. He always had to be in the midst of it, taking action. Not always for the best.

Ginny arrived without Dean, of course, and Harry fretted about his tendency to speak without thinking, and wondered whether he was at risk for blurting out his concerns about Dean and the five lovely witches he was currently shacked up with in London.

Shacked up was probably not the nicest way to say it.

Ginny had come straight from practice and was still wearing her Quidditch gear. Privately Harry believed she wore her full kit to the pub because it drew stares and gave her a chance to proudly show off her team’s colours. It didn’t annoy him, but he thought she should at least be honest about her intentions.

Neville came in with Ron and Hermione, having traveled together from Hogwarts. All three had taken apprenticeships at their alma mater and were in the process of attaining graduate levels so they could teach. They were in the final two weeks of mad preparation for the new school year. Harry had already taken to saying, “Professor Weasley” just to ruffle Ron’s feathers. And if things between Ron and Hermione continued the way they were heading, he’d soon be able to call both of them Professor Weasley.

The Daily Prophet was up for discussion straight away, having just published their latest installment on the potential future for one Harry Potter, defeater of Dark Lords and bachelor extraordinaire.

“It’s absolutely daft!” Ginny laughed hysterically, running her finger down the list of names the gossip column had identified for potential mates. “There’s no rhyme or reason to their selections.”

“I suspect they took money under the table from parents who wanted their daughters to appear in the list,” Hermione leaned over and peered at the names. “Maybe they think he’ll read it and get ideas.”

“Stop,” Harry moaned, his head buried in his arms. “It’s agony.”

“Come on, Harry,” Seamus elbowed him sharply in the ribs, making him jump back in his seat. “You won’t be famous forever. Enjoy it now, because someday no one will care anymore and you’ll pine for the days when you couldn’t visit the loo without making the front page.”

“But why can’t they print something that’s true?” Harry wailed. “Doesn’t anyone care what I’m really doing with my life? We could use the free advertising.”

“Why don’t you sell them an exclusive interview?” Luna asked, the only experienced journalist of the bunch.

“Because I don’t have anything to say,” Harry said honestly. “I would only talk about P&T, and they’d want more than that.”

“Tell us, Harry,” Seamus leaned over with a playful interviewer voice. “Who are you shagging these days? Any muggle ladies you’d like to mention? What exactly do you do in your spare time?”

“See, how would they get an article out of that?” Harry asked. “I don’t do much. I do outings and I come home.”

“And that’s why they make up rubbish,” Ron pointed out.

Harry congratulated himself on dodging the shagging question. He had only recently told Ron and Hermione about Colin, but he’d made it out to sound a lot better than it was. He didn’t think they would approve of him moping about a muggle pub, waiting for the object of his affection to decide whether to take him or someone else home. It was degrading, more than he wanted to admit to himself, and certainly more than he would ever admit to them.

It wasn’t a late one this week, in fact Luna, Neville and Ginny all rose at the same time to leave, which essentially cut the night short for everyone. They stumbled together out into the night air, pleasantly intoxicated and filled with the warmth of friendship. They hugged in a jumble of pairings until everyone was sure to have hugged everyone else at least once.

“I won’t be here next week,” Harry remembered to mention. “We’ve got our biggest reservation yet. Five days, four nights.”

“That’s wonderful, Harry,” Hermione beamed proudly at him. “I knew you and Dean would make a success of this.”

“Hold that thought until I get back,” Harry said. “I’ve never had to do customer service for that long. I might bugger it all up.”

The group shouted him down in a jumble of waved hands and dismissive snorts, giving him the kind of support and encouragement in the form of insults that can only come from true friends. He hoped their faith wasn’t misplaced. He was nervous about the upcoming trip, and hoped he could provide the kind of experience he and Dean had envisioned. He’d had one too many frustrating outings and felt like he stood at a crossroads. If this one didn’t go well, he might consider buying his way out of the business and leaving the leisure industry for good. But if it was successful, if he came out of it feeling like he’d done a good job and that his guests had enjoyed themselves, then maybe he could finally let his guard down and enjoy the direction he’d chosen for his future.

He was in the office playing solitaire on the laptop on Saturday morning when Dean and his five guests appeared through the Floo. Harry quickly minimized his program and called up a spreadsheet, although honestly the girls knew nothing of computers and probably wouldn’t have known the difference.

“Harry Potter!” they squealed in unison, and each demanded a hug.

They were dressed in muggle attire, t-shirts bearing raucous slogans, blue jeans and miniskirts. They wore sneakers and platform shoes and sunglasses and plastic bangle bracelets. They were not what anyone on the outside would call fashionable, but they probably got fewer strange looks than they would have gotten in their elaborate robes.

“Did you have fun?” Harry couldn’t help grinning at their delighted faces. He wished any of his outings had resulted in such joy. If he could elicit smiles like that he would feel like the effort was worth it.

“Dean was a sweetheart!” one of the girls exclaimed. “We had such a good time!” The other girls agreed enthusiastically.

“Would you mind letting us quote you on that in our brochure?” Dean asked.

“And tell your friends,” Harry added.

“You should really put your name on the sign, Harry,” the black haired girl said as though they had been friends for years. “People would pay extra if they knew they could go with you.”

“Come on, now,” Dean looked insulted.

“Aw Deanie!” the honey blond girl hugged him around the waist. “You’re adorable but Harry is famous. People would pay more for a famous guide.”

“I’m not putting my name on the sign,” Harry blushed and shook his head. “That’s the last thing I need.”

The girls jostled around and hefted their luggage and newly purchased muggle goods until Harry and Dean levitated it all in a line and helped them navigate out onto the street.

“See? This is why I couldn’t live there,” one of the girls said. “Fun to visit, but who wants to carry bags?”

“Tell your friends,” Harry called again as they set off down the road with wands in hand and luggage in tow.

“Maybe we should put your name on the sign,” Dean said thoughtfully.

“No,” Harry said warningly. “I already told you no.”

“All right, all right,” Dean sighed and waved Harry back inside. His dark skin looked sallow from fatigue and his clothes were rumpled. “I’m beat. They stayed up late watching telly every night,” he said. “And then it was shopping all day.”

“Did you keep your hands to yourself?” Harry asked indelicately, still defensive of Ginny’s honor.

“Of course I did,” Dean looked insulted again.

“Did you?”

“Yes, Harry,” Dean bristled. “Don’t ask again. I love Ginny, and this is business.”

“Damn straight,” Harry nodded firmly. “See that it stays that way.”

“You need to find someone for yourself, mate,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Then you can worry more about your own relationship than mine.”

Harry didn’t disagree.


	3. Chapter 3

The following Tuesday Harry visited Grimmauld Place and made sure everything was in order. He stocked the kitchen with groceries, made sure the bedrooms and washrooms all had clean linens, and then travelled back to the flat. He was ready for his five-day guests. This would be a huge payday for them, the longest muggle excursion they’d done so far. He hoped he could provide good service. Anyone who could afford this trip had to be loaded, and if they recommended their business to their loaded friends, it could be a big breakthrough.

On Wednesday morning he dressed purposefully in his favorite muggle attire. He wore a fitted dark red t-shirt with light blue ring collar and a West Ham United crest on the front, atop faded blue jeans and burgundy Adidas. He kept a wallet in his back pocket stocked with plenty of muggle currency, and he assembled a welcome packet with information about all of the activities their guests had selected. By nine o’clock he was dressed, fed, and ready for their arrival. He was determined to make this a great outing, one he could enjoy as much as his guests. He was sitting at the desk in the rolling chair with his feet on the counter, sipping his second cup of coffee while playing solitaire on the laptop when the door swung open.

Oh Merlin, no.

The first person through the door was an older witch, seventy years old if she was a day. She had wiry gray hair swept up in a bun, a long green velvet robe and the proud, posh bearing of the born wealthy. Behind her was Narcissa Malfoy. And Lucius Malfoy. And -- oh Merlin it can’t be -- Draco Malfoy.

Harry froze with his coffee halfway to his mouth as the Malfoy trio stopped and stared. Lucius was as absurdly dressed as ever, in a full, black, sweeping robe all detailed in glittering gold accents. He had a jeweled ring on every finger and clutched a polished cane in his hand. His long blond hair swept back over his shoulders and he regarded Harry as though something smelled rotten. Narcissa wore a coordinating black and golden gown, and her long blond hair was tied up in a coiling, intricate knot. Large gold earrings dangled nearly to her shoulders. She stared at Harry as though seeing a ghost.

And then there was Draco. In keeping with his family’s theme, he wore black as well, although more tastefully. His button-down shirt and black trousers would be nearly passable in London, if a bit morose for summertime. His short blond hair was neatly trimmed and not a strand was out of place. He looked at Harry as though he might be sick.

The older woman approached the counter with a delighted smile. “Good morning,” she said with warm, breathless excitement. “We’re here to check in for our Muggle Adventure.”

Harry belatedly dropped his feet to the floor and set his coffee down. He pulled the laptop over in front of him and called up the reservation spreadsheet.

“Madam Gliese Honeychurch,” Harry stumbled over her first name.

“Glee-say,” she corrected him kindly. “It’s a star in the night sky.”

“My apologies,” Harry said quickly. “And this is your party?”

“Indeed they are,” she rolled her eyes. “You have your work cut out for you, they’re not a bit interested in muggles.”

“But you are?” Harry looked up.

Her eyes sparkled humorously, “I’ve always been interested in muggles. I thought my dear relatives could use a lesson in tolerance, given their recent poor behavior.”

Harry nearly choked on his own tongue. His head was spinning and he wasn’t sure what to do. He made up an excuse about needing to fetch their travel packet and ran up the stairs to the flat.

“Dean!” he hissed as soon as he reached the landing. “Where the hell are you?”

“I’m in the loo, Harry, go away,” Dean’s voice came from the direction of the hallway.

“The Malfoys are downstairs,” Harry ignored him and ran to the washroom door.

“The Malfoys?” Dean sounded confused. Harry could hear him click his mobile as he checked his records. “No,” he said, “Honeychurch.”

“Yes,” Harry said impatiently. “That’s who made the reservation but she’s traveling with the Malfoys.”

“All of them?”

“All of them,” Harry was scared to speak above an agitated whisper. “Draco fucking Malfoy is down there, and I’m supposed to take them all on a muggle fucking excursion.”

“Harry,” Dean sighed. “Go away, stop talking to me through the bathroom door.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Harry’s whisper squeaked.

“Take them to London,” Dean said. “Show them a good time. Markup the price on everything and get every penny you can out of them. Be a professional, for Merlin’s sake. This is your business.”

“But--”

“If you do not go away I will curse you into next week,” Dean said calmly.

Harry stepped back and tried to calm his racing heart. His partner was right, he needed to be a professional about it. He could do this. He was Harry bloody Potter. He could handle anything. It would be a piece of piss. He turned on his heel with forced confidence and marched down the stairs wearing his best customer service smile.

“Here we are,” he said as he reentered the shopfront. He held up the welcome packet and opened it on the counter. Gliese bent over its contents with interest, while the Malfoys continued to huddle miserably at the door. “You’ve asked to pack quite a lot into one trip,” he remarked. “Let’s identify your preferences. Hopefully we can do it all, but if we can’t we’ll want to prioritize.”

Gliese shot the Malfoys a withering look, “Stop lurking in the doorway and come look. Cissy, what are you interested in?”

“Well,” Narcissa crept forward as though afraid Harry might bite. “Obviously shopping would be fine,” she shrugged delicately. “And perhaps this art museum you’ve been talking about.”

“Lucius,” Gliese snapped in a less affectionate tone. “What would you like to do?”

“Didn’t you say we could see their Ministry of,” he paused, unsure how to proceed, “non-Magic?”

“Parliament,” Harry corrected him. “You can do a walking tour and attend a debate.”

“Draco, darling,” Gliese waved the blond boy closer. “Surely you’re interested in football. It’s so similar to Quidditch.”

“It’s actually nothing like Quidditch,” Harry smiled apologetically. “But it’s very popular and quite fun to watch.” Draco frowned and did not speak or make eye contact.

"If you're ready we can depart at any time," Harry said with more confidence than he felt.

"Where exactly are we going?" Lucius demanded, his spine straightening as though digging in his heels.

"We will be staying at a house in a muggle neighborhood, so we'll head over there first to get settled in." Harry explained, bridling privately at his tone. Easy, boy.

"It's so exciting!" Gliese exclaimed. "I haven't been out in twenty years! Too much rabble about purity in recent decades," she shot Lucius a sharply critical look. To Harry's shock he actually looked away as though too ashamed to meet her fierce gaze.

"Please repeat after me," Harry held out the jar of Floo powder for each guest. "Twelve Grimmauld place."

"Twelve Grimmauld Place," his guests mumbled in unison.

Just then Dean came clattering down the stairs with an expectant grin on his face. "Malfoy!" he thrust his hand out at Draco. "Good to see you, mate."

Harry didn't know how Dean could sound so chipper. He knew his pleasant demeanor was a cover for his dislike of the Slytherin boy, but the fact that he could cover it so convincingly was impressive. Harry had his game face on, but inside he was struggling not to scream.

"Alright, mate," Draco muttered miserably and shook his hand as though humiliated. Suddenly he looked up. “P&T. Potter and Thomas. Do you two own this place?"

"We do," Dean beamed.

Suddenly Harry understood. Dean was proud. He was proud that he and his schoolmate had started their own business. He was proud of their cramped, narrow shopfront in Diagon Alley, their secondhand laptop, their gaudy colorful post-it notes and push pins and paper clips purchased from a muggle desk supply shop. The fact that Malfoy was the customer didn't bother him. It made him proud.

"Potter?" Gliese covered her mouth delicately with a wrinkled hand. "Are you Harry Potter?"

"Yes, Ma'am," Harry ducked his head sheepishly.

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "And you will be our tour guide?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Oh dear, you should be charging more," she grasped his arm with surprising strength. "People would pay to have a celebrity guide."

"Oh please," Draco snorted and turned to gaze out of the window.

"I'm not interested in celebrity, Ma'am," Harry said apologetically.

"Oh please," Draco said louder.

"Does the Daily Prophet know you're here? They've been reporting on you."

"I know," Harry sighed. "I wish they would stop."

"Gliese," Lucius sounded strained. "Perhaps this is not a good idea. There is still time to book a holiday at a proper wizard resort. You enjoyed Rotterdam."

"Hush, Lucius," she snapped. "This holiday is exactly what you need."

Harry liked Gliese.

"Are you all set to go?" Dean asked with a professional smile.

"Yes, does everyone have their Floo powder?" Harry checked around the group. He tossed his in, announced his destination, and departed for what he privately suspected would be the worst trip of his life.


	4. Chapter 4

Narcissa was the first Malfoy through the fireplace. She looked around with surprise and stepped out cautiously. She approached the window and looked out at the street below with an unformed question on her lips.

Lucius stepped through next, and as he appeared he sneered haughtily at Harry as though he'd managed to forget that he was part of the trip. Draco stumbled through next like he had been shoved or chased.

"Crazy old bint," he smoothed his hair down with his hand. His mother smacked him in the back of the head, mussing it again. "Sorry," he mumbled. Harry couldn't help grinning at him. Draco clenched his jaw but said nothing.

Gliese stepped through last, holding up the hem of her robe as she entered the room. She looked around with the same bemused look as Narcissa.

"Is this Walburga's old place?" she asked.

"I believe you're right," Narcissa said wonderingly.

Oh hells, of course. Harry hadn't thought about the fact that the house had belonged to the Black family. Of which Narcissa, and apparently Gliese, were members.

"It was left to Sirius," Harry explained in a rush. "He left it to me when he passed. He was my godfather," he added quietly.

"Oh yes, that was your sister who murdered him, wasn't it, Cissy?" Gliese's expression was placid but her tone carried a sharp rebuke.

"Father was there," Draco said sullenly, regarding Lucius with a disapproval that Harry found odd for a fellow Death Eater.

Oh Merlin, there were Death Eaters in his house again.

"Excuse me, I'll put the kettle on," Harry slipped out and slid the parlor doors closed behind him.

He dashed down the stairs to the foyer, glancing furtively up at the ornate mirror where Walburga's portrait once hung. He passed the long dining room and descended the narrow stairs to the kitchen to put on the tea. He and Dean had gone to some expense to have the house wired for electricity but he skipped the electric kettle and put the traditional one on the gas stove. He needed the time afforded by boiling water to gather his composure.

The Malfoys were in his house. The flipping, fucking, bleeding, sodding, murdering Malfoys were in his house. He had invited them in. He was their host. What in Merlin's pants was he supposed to do with them? They hated muggles. Why would they let this crazy old lady drag them on a muggle excursion?

He flopped down at the enormous kitchen table and put his head in his hands. First the awful camping trip and now this. Maybe he really wasn't cut out for the leisure industry after all. He wondered if he could pop back to the shop and shove Dean through the Floo. Dean, who had generously offered to take five beautiful witches on a tour of London without asking his mate if he wanted a go. He owed Harry a break.

A shuffle from the doorway startled him out of his reverie. He sat up with a start and saw Draco slouching self-consciously in the doorway.

"Didn't know you were in here," he muttered. "They're fighting again so..." he let the end of his sentence dangle heavily.

“Have a seat,” Harry waved at the bench on the other side of the table.

“You don’t have to be nice to me,” Draco said sullenly. “I’m not paying for this trip.”

“Have a seat, arsehole,” Harry waved in the same manner.

Draco eyed him suspiciously, then slunk to the table and plopped down across from Harry. They stared at each other, nemesis to nemesis, unable to think of anything to say. The tea kettle started to whistle, giving Harry a good excuse to get up and make himself busy. He poured the water into the teapot and arranged a tray of cups, sugar, milk and biscuits.

“So how long have you been doing this?” Draco asked finally.

“Not long,” Harry kept his eyes focused on his work. “Took a while to come up with the idea, then we had to fix up the place and lease a shopfront.”

“Where’d you get that kind of money?” Draco sounded dubious.

“My parents left me a comfortable savings,” Harry didn’t want to say more than that.

“I had no idea.”

“The Death Eaters destroyed the house,” Harry added, a little bolder now. “It took a lot of work to make it livable again.”

“They destroyed a lot of things,” Draco said with disgust in his voice.

“They?” Harry spoke without thinking. His stomach immediately tensed up and he glanced over his shoulder. He was aware that he may have just fucked the whole weekend.

“Yes, they,” Draco looked up, his face pointedly neutral.

Harry chose not to pursue it. If they were going to be stuck together for five days, it would be best not to pick at war wounds. “So you’re related to Gliese?” he asked politely.

“She’s--” Draco frowned. “I know she was Walburga’s cousin, whatever that makes her to my mother and me.” He rolled his eyes, “She makes us call her Auntie Gliese.”

“Why do your parents put up with her?” Harry hefted the laden tray and moved it to the dumbwaiter.

“She owns them,” Draco said bluntly. His expression forbid any more questions on the topic.

Harry pressed the button for the drawing room and gestured for Draco to follow him up the stairs. Draco paused and listened to the rumble in the wall. “Mechanical?” he asked.

“Non-magical,” Harry nodded and smiled.

Draco followed Harry up the two flights of stairs. They paused outside of the drawing room. It was quiet, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t open the door to a massacre. Draco sighed heavily and cast his eyes heavenward, then waved his hand for Harry to enter as the dumbwaiter ground its way up the wall shaft. Harry slid the doors open and braced himself with a brave smile.

“Tea is coming up,” he said brightly. Narcissa was perched on a chair near the window, looking frail and distant. Lucius was standing near the fireplace, glowering into its embers. Gliese was sitting comfortably on the sofa, looking pleased with herself.

“Here we are,” Harry retrieved the tray from the lift and moved it to the coffee table. He poured four cups and asked around for everyone’s sugar and milk preference. They all took their tea very sweet with lots of milk. Harry tried not to grimace at the amount of sugar he was asked to add. It was more like sweetened milk with a splash of tea in it.

“Now,” he said as they each nibbled at their biscuits. “Because this is a muggle adventure we ask that you give up your wands for the duration of your stay.”

“I will do no such thing!” Lucius spluttered. “Gliese, don’t say a word.”

“You will do it,” Gliese said sharply without looking up from her tea.

Harry walked around with a velvet-lined carved wooden box and collected their wands. Draco peered at Harry resentfully as he dropped his in.

“If you would feel safer with me carrying a wand, I will,” Harry added. “Although I usually don’t when I’m in the city.”

“If we can’t, you can’t,” Draco said quickly.

“All right,” Harry smirked and dropped his wand into the box, too. “Now, it’s nearly lunch time, is anyone interested in visiting your first muggle restaurant?”

“Marvelous!” Gliese pushed herself to her feet.

“Let’s get your clothing sorted out,” Harry waved for his guests to follow him. They crossed the hall to the bedroom Hermione and Ginny had shared years ago. It had been cleared of furniture and was now lined with racks of muggle clothing. Near the window they had installed a round dais in front of three full-length dressing mirrors.

“In this room we have our one magical feature,” Harry said as they entered behind them. “We invested in a tailoring stand, to ensure no one goes out in ill-fitting garments. Have a look, see if there’s anything you like.”

Gliese was thrilled, and she pawed through the rack of dresses with enthusiasm. Lucius and Narcissa were lost and Draco didn’t seem to know the difference between menswear and ladies’ activewear.

Harry helped guide their choices, picking out an age-appropriate floral dress for Gliese, a casual trouser suit in vibrant blue for Narcissa, and a collared shirt and tan trousers for Lucius. They each changed privately and stood on the tailor’s dais for fitting, then returned to the drawing room to wait for the others. When it was Draco’s turn he hovered over a rack of graphic t-shirts and finally picked a black one with the slogan “Just Do It” across the front.

“Is this a sigil?” he pointed to the swoosh symbol beneath the words.

“No, just a logo,” Harry tried not to smirk. Know-it-all Malfoy was in over his head, and Harry greatly enjoyed his befuddlement. “Er, a picture that tells you who made it. Non-magical. Just a shape.”

“Whatever,” Draco didn’t ask for privacy, he unbuttoned his blouse and stripped it off. Harry turned away belatedly, but not before he got a look at strong, pale shoulders and well-defined abdominal muscles. “What are those trousers you’re wearing?” Draco asked as he pulled the shirt over his head.

“Blue jeans,” Harry was still looking the other way. He could hear him slip out of his black trousers. He kept his eyes fixed elsewhere.

“Where are those?”

“Over on the far wall,” Harry pointed over his shoulder.

“What is wrong with you?” Draco sneered. “Afraid to see a man in his underpants?”

“No,” Harry turned. Draco stood sternly before him in his black t-shirt, boxer-style underpants and black socks. His pale legs practically glowed by contrast. Harry couldn’t help it, he burst out laughing.

“Get a good look, Potter,” Draco strutted to the rack where the blue jeans hung. “Purebloods have the finest arses.” He stepped into a pair of jeans and stood on the dais for fitting. He turned and held his arms out with an arched, arrogant face. “Acceptable?” he asked.

Harry lied and said he looked fine. He didn’t look fine. He looked marvelous. But Harry couldn’t say that for a number of reasons, namely because he was talking about Draco fucking Malfoy, and he would be damned before he would admire that prat.

Now that they were all appropriately clothed, it was time to leave. Harry led the group outside and they walked up to the next main intersection to hail a taxi. Lucius and Narcissa squeezed in next to Gliese and Harry and Draco took the two rear-facing jump seats. Harry spoke quickly with the driver and they were off.

Gliese was thrilled with the ride, her face alive with the excitement of speed. Narcissa and Lucius sat stiffly in terrified silence as the taxi made its way through the city, navigating heavy traffic and roundabouts with ease. Draco clutched his seatbelt and looked a bit green, as though he might be sick.

“First time?” Harry asked politely, to try to ease their tension. All four guests nodded. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. The drivers are very well trained and they know these streets well. It’s a very safe way to travel.”

Draco’s eyes were as wide as saucers as the city grew around them, flying by at speeds that clearly exceeded his tolerance. He glanced at Harry in fleeting instants as he tried not to gawk at the buildings outside. They passed old stone and brick structures that would have been quite at home in Diagon Alley, as well as modern glass and steel monstrosities that dominated the skyline.

The driver finally pulled up at the curb in front of a lovely pub with ivy vines covering the walls and a picturesque outdoor seating area with a view of a public garden across the street. Dean had scoped out a number of dining establishments that he felt suited their clientele, and this was one of Harry’s favorites. They were seated beneath a sprawling umbrella as the waiter passed around menus. Harry placed a drink order and then explained the diverse food choices they were unfamiliar with.

The Malfoys didn’t fit in quite as well as they could have, although they were oblivious to that fact. Lucius’ hair flowed in long platinum blond locks down his back, a bit incongruous with the business-casual attire he had chosen. Narcissa’s hair was still piled up on her head in an elaborate series of knots. Gliese looked normal enough, but Draco’s short, perfectly smoothed hairstyle looked far more uptight than his Nike shirt and blue jeans suggested. Still, it was passable enough that no one would comment and make them feel self conscious.

“What is that?” Draco eyed Harry’s plate warily when their food arrived.

“Pizza,” Harry tipped the plate so everyone could see the small round portion.

“It looks disgusting,” Draco reached over and poked at it with his fork.

“Hey, watch it,” Out of habit Harry reverted to his Hogwarts days and defended his plate from invasion with a quick fork-parry. “It’s not disgusting, it has cheese and sausage and vegetables on it.”

Draco shook his head and swirled his spoon around in his stew. “It looks unpleasant,” he insisted.

“Have some,” Harry lifted a wedge from his plate and offered it to the other boy. Draco reeled back as though it were poisonous. “Try it, it’s good,” Harry insisted.

“Get away,” Draco pushed his hand up between his mouth and the pizza.

“Malfoy, just try it. One bite,” Harry was a little annoyed at his resistance. Their history made him momentarily forget his customer service skills.

“Try it!” Gliese’s eyes sparkled as she picked up on Draco’s resistance. “We’re here to try new things, darling.”

Draco sagged at the sound of the endearing pet name. He sighed and snatched the triangle of pizza out of Harry’s hand. Lucius and Narcissa watched him warily as he eyeballed the toppings closely. “I swear to Salazar Slytherin, Potter,” he muttered.

“It’s good, I promise,” Harry insisted.

Draco opened his mouth a mere fraction of a centimeter, then shaved off a sliver with his front teeth.

“Big boy bite, darling,” Gliese said firmly.

“Auntie Gliese,” Draco whined.

“Like your shirt says,” Harry grinned, enjoying his imminent victory, “just do it.”

“Brilliant!” Gliese clapped her hands in delight.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut and took a large bite. He chewed furiously, then paused and chewed a little more thoughtfully. He opened his eyes and grunted in surprise. “It’s not bad,” he said. “Not worth the build up, perhaps, but tolerable.”

“See? I told you,” Harry couldn’t help but gloat. He reached out to take the slice back but Draco moved it beyond his reach.

“I think I’ll keep this,” he said pompously. “I’ll need a few more bites to really assess it properly.”

“Right,” Harry snorted. He wasn’t fooled.

When they were finished Harry settled the tab and led them out of the restaurant and across the street to the garden. One of the reasons they had chosen this area for a dining option was the adjacent shopping. It was moderately tourist-friendly, so strange customs would hopefully be less noticeable, and for a first foray into the city the crowds would be less overwhelming. He encouraged his guests to follow along as they strolled beneath the shade trees towards the row of boutiques on the other side.

Draco hung back behind his family and as far from Harry as he could manage without being left behind. He had his hands shoved in his pockets and he squinted in the midday sun at the garden’s other visitors. Harry wondered if he’d thought the word “mudblood” yet. They crossed the road and he opened the door to an eclectic gift shop so everyone could proceed inside. Draco tried to avoid his eyes as he entered, which just made Harry feel more bold.

“Alright, mate?” he asked as Draco slouched past.

“What?” Draco looked up in surprise. “Yeah, fine.” He looked at Harry suspiciously, as though convinced there was an insult to be found. Harry held his gaze with an open, friendly expression until the other boy finally harrumphed and moved on into the shop.

Gliese was oohing and aahing over every bauble and trinket. Narcissa found a small tray of costume jewelry and seemed particularly attracted to the plastic items. Harry remembered the previous weekend’s group that had returned with Dean and several arm-loads of plastic bangles. He had never thought of it as a rare, coveted material before.

“Look, Father,” Draco knelt before a rack of nylon kites. “Romanian Kittingers.”

“Don’t touch them,” Lucius pushed his hand aside. “They might not be tamed.”

“They’re kites,” Harry said, checking over his shoulder to make sure the shopkeeper hadn’t overheard. “They’re not alive.”

“What do they do?” Draco nudged one with his finger.

“You take them outside and fly them.”

“You said they’re not alive.”

“You toss them up in the air and the wind catches them. You hold a string and sort of hold on while the wind carries them up,” Harry was at a bit of a loss. He’d never tried to explain kites before.

“What’s the point?” Lucius looked scornful.

“It’s not easy,” Harry said. “So getting the kite to stay up and keeping it from falling is the point.”

“That’s not a point,” Draco stood and eyed the rack of colorful cloth skeptically. “It goes up and you hold a string and that’s fun?”

“It is for some people,” Harry said weakly.

“Some people need better hobbies,” Draco said firmly.

“We have to buy these!” Gliese called from the counter.

She had discovered a rack of colorful Ray-Ban Wayfarer sunglasses. She selected a pink pair for herself, then handed Narcissa a blue pair. “These will look lovely with your suit, dear.” She handed Lucius a purple pair and before she could select for Draco he reached over her head and plucked a green pair off of the rack. The four donned their glasses and solemnly looked at Harry in unison. He struggled so hard to maintain his composure that he worried his suppressed laughter might crack a rib. They were so serious, and the colors so garish, that he almost needed to excuse himself.

“How much are they, Harry?” Gliese asked. “In real money, not pounds or shillings or whatever.”

Harry did a quick calculation and converted to Galleons. Gliese nodded for him to make the purchase and the four bespectacled guests filed outside into the sun. If Harry hadn’t needed his glasses to see, he would have been tempted to buy a pair of sunglasses himself, just for the hilarity.

Narcissa seemed more engaged now, and she insisted that they visit several more shops before leaving. Lucius came along obediently but Draco started waiting outside rather than join the group. He found a bench outside of a jewelry store and sat stubbornly while his family piled inside. Harry hung back, feeling obligated to ensure he was having a good time.

“Alright, mate?” he asked.

“Stop saying that,” Draco said sharply, his tone at odds with his brilliant green sunglasses. Although Harry admitted to himself that there was something a bit roguishly appealing about the Wayfarers with the t-shirt and jeans. Oh egads no, no there wasn’t.

“Just making sure you’re having fun,” he shrugged.

“I’m not your mate,” Draco said. “And what do you care whether I’m having fun?”

“It’s my job to make sure you have a good time,” Harry pointed out.

“I’m not the one paying you. It doesn’t matter if I have a good time.”

“Well maybe I want you to have a good time because that’s what I care about,” Harry said.

“When has Harry bloody Potter ever cared about my well-being?” Draco snapped.

“Come on,” Harry sighed. “Don’t be like that. It’s been more than a year since the war, since school.”

“You can just put it behind you like that?” Draco looked up, his tone a little less harsh.

“I’ve never thought about it before,” Harry said honestly. “But it’s probably the right idea, anyway.”

“Well maybe I’m not over it,” Draco said.

“Over what?”

Draco was silent for a long moment. Finally he gazed off towards the garden and shrugged vaguely. “I don’t know.”

“Harry,” Narcissa popped her head out of the shop door with the first real smile Harry had seen all day. “We need money.”

“My mother, ladies and gentlemen,” Draco muttered in a sarcastic voice.

Harry smirked and followed her inside. She had found more plastic jewelry, to the shopkeeper’s dismay. He had beautiful pieces of gold, silver and platinum on display, but the three wizards couldn’t take their eyes off of the plastic beads and bangles in the cheap bin by the register. Harry laid out a few pound notes for a selection of gaudy cheap jewels and they headed back out to the street. Draco nodded approvingly at his mother’s purchase, as fascinated by the synthetic material as she was.

They crossed through the garden to the main street again, and this time Draco walked near Harry at the front of the group.

“What would everyone like to do now?” Harry walked backwards to address his guests. “There’s plenty of shopping to do, and there are lots of popular sights for tourists like yourself to see. There’s the palace, Big Ben, the London Eye--”

“What’s that?” Narcissa asked. “Is that a seer?”

“No, it’s a ferris wheel,” Harry knew instantly his explanation was insufficient. “You get into a little car that’s mounted on a giant wheel and it lifts you up slowly so you can see the whole city. You get on, go around once, and get back off. Thirty minutes for a spin.”

“That sounds daft,” Draco snorted.

“I want to do it,” Gliese said. And so it was decided.

Harry hailed another taxi and they set off again. Harry warned them about the crowds and reminded them to stay near him. He described the ferris wheel so they wouldn’t be overwhelmed by its size, although he expected some shock anyway. He plucked his mobile out of his pocket and made a quick online ticket purchase, making sure to opt for priority boarding so they wouldn’t have to keep Gliese waiting in the August sun.

“What is that?” Draco leaned over from his jump seat and peered at Harry’s phone. He still wore his sunglasses, even though it was shaded enough inside the taxi.

“Mobile phone,” Harry said, then realized he hadn’t prepared an explanation for it. “It...”

“You don’t know?” Lucius frowned disapprovingly.

“It’s hard to explain,” Harry said. “It’s like making a firecall through the Floo, except you can reach anyone from anywhere by talking into it. And you can get information though it, too.” He wondered if the driver was listening.

His guests all stared at him blankly. It was probably too complicated to sum up simply, he decided, so he turned their attention to the city outside. Draco reached over and plucked the phone out of Harry’s hand and poked at it curiously. Harry considered protesting, as he most definitely would have at school. But he had said it was probably best to put the past behind them, and if he said it he needed to stick by it, and that meant not automatically assuming Draco would do something terrible like chuck it out of the window or smash it with his foot.

“I don’t get it,” Draco shrugged and dropped it back into Harry’s hand.

He instantly felt guilty for assuming the worst. Then he chastised himself for feeling guilty because if anyone deserved it, it was Draco fucking Malfoy. Then he chided himself for not getting over the past like he said he would.

Enough already, he told himself.

They climbed out of the cab and he gave his guests a moment to gawk inelegantly at the giant wheel. They picked up their tickets and with just a bit of cajoling he managed to convinced all four of them to enter a capsule with him and a handful of other tourists. He had forgotten that the capsules were so large, and he hoped they wouldn’t say anything over the thirty minute ride that would require a lot of convoluted explanation.

Fortunately they rode in dumbfounded silence, a reaction that pleased him greatly. He took it as a sign of awe, that they were having a good experience, and it meant he could enjoy the sight of the city himself without having to make conversation.

As they crested the top of the arc Harry felt someone move up next to him. He tore his eyes away from the skyline and realized Draco had joined him at the front of the capsule, standing a mere inch away. His gray eyes were wide, distant and amazed. He had removed his sunglasses and now they dangled, forgotten, from his fingertips. He was enraptured. Harry couldn’t help it, he felt proud. He was seeing something on Draco Malfoy’s face that he doubted many people in this world had seen, and he had put that expression there. Draco was glorious in this moment, reverent and awestruck, and Harry found it as beautiful to behold as the city outside.

“Alright, mate?” Harry asked softly. Draco blinked and looked at him for just a moment before redirecting his focus back to the spectacular view.

“Yeah,” he said breathlessly. “Alright.”


	5. Chapter 5

They did a bit more walking in the afternoon, with frequent stops to let their Auntie rest her feet. It was the middle of the week so the area wasn't as mobbed with tourists as it could have been, but the clear late summer weather had brought locals out en masse. Narcissa and Lucius clung to each other, overwhelmed by the sheer volume of people around them. Gliese was radiant, head over heels in love with the muggle city already, but Harry suspected she was an easy win.

Draco, on the other hand, was hard to read. His sunglasses were back on his face and he stood a bit apart from his family with a perfectly smooth, stony expression. He wasn't sneering at mudbloods, which Harry would have expected, but he had neatly contained the unshielded amazement he had shown on the ferris wheel.

As evening set in Harry offered a selection of dining options in the area. Many of the nearby restaurants on Dean's list offered a lovely view of the Thames, as well as other popular sights. But the senior Malfoys were at the end of their tolerance for noise and with just a bit of bickering everyone decided it would be best to head back to Grimmauld Place. Harry hailed a taxi and they piled in, already practically experts at hired motorcar travel.

"There are several nice restaurants within walking distance of the house," Harry mentioned. His stomach was telling him that he wanted dining arrangements settled soon. "And of course we can do take-away," he added with a smile. "A time-honoured muggle tradition.

"We could bring it back to the house?" Narcissa asked weakly. "Yes, please. No more walking. I don't know how anyone can survive a whole day in a city this size."

"You get used to it," Harry assured her.

"Can we get pizza?" Draco asked suddenly.

"Is that what you want?" Harry was surprised.

"Was it that good, darling?" Gliese asked. "Then lets do that. We'll all try it."

It wasn't the high-brow supper Harry had imagined but it was their choice. They debated toppings, with several misunderstandings about the availability of exotic items. "No, they'll not have any hippogriff meat," Harry hoped the driver wasn't listening.

They climbed out of the taxi and Harry pulled his mobile out of his pocket to call in the pizza order. Since the house was hidden from the public by a highly effective Fidelius Charm, delivery was not an option. He would have to go out and pick it up himself. Although when he thought of it, he rather liked the idea of a few minutes to himself if he could get his guests settled comfortably first.

“Is he talking to us?” Gliese murmured as Harry spoke into his phone.

“He’s talking to that little box,” Narcissa pointed. They crowded together with Lucius and peered at him curiously as he placed his order. Draco stood a bit apart from them, his body language showing his attentiveness, but his face pointedly averted. He still wore the green Wayfarers so Harry couldn’t see his eyes.

“Well that’s terribly confusing,” Gliese said. “How do muggles know when someone is talking to them or talking to a tiny box?”

“Mobile phone,” Draco said. “That’s what he said it’s called.”

“Thank you,” Harry disconnected and pocketed his phone. “It will be ready in about forty minutes. shall we?” he gestured to the house.

It was the riskiest part of the P&T business plan. Twelve Grimmauld Place was highly secured from outsiders. The Fidelius Charm meant no one could find it, magical or muggle, unless the secret keeper revealed it. Which meant every guest who came through its doors became privy to its secret. Harry hadn’t worried too much about it before, but now that he was revealing it to the Malfoys, those sodding Death Eater Malfoys, he wondered if it was such a good idea.

But he had to believe they had changed. They had been acquitted, after all, and Harry had had a hand in their acquittal when he had testified on Narcissa’s behalf at their trial. But acquitted didn’t mean innocent, and he had his doubts about Lucius’ ability to turn his life around. Draco was probably young enough that there was still hope, but he hadn’t seen enough of him to quell his worry about revealing the house’s secret location. Nothing to be done for it, though. They knew now, and there was no turning back.

The guests were clearly relieved to be out of the clamour of the city as they climbed the stairs with fatigue-rounded shoulders. Harry brought their luggage up to the second floor and placed the bags outside of each bedroom. He re-checked the restroom to make sure it was properly stocked and descended to the drawing room.

“Please make yourselves at home,” he said. “Your bedrooms are up on the next floor, please feel free to choose whichever one you prefer. I will be back with supper in about a half hour.” He crossed the room and turned on the telly, then handed Draco the remote control. “This arrow changes the channel, and these make it louder and quieter.” Draco furrowed his brow at the small black device as his family stared in bewilderment at the moving images on the screen. Harry opened the liquor cabinet and headed out to pick up supper.

Once outside he thought he might as well use his half hour well and Disapparated straight away. It was not quite seven o’clock. which meant The Magic Hat was still relatively slow, but he thought he might have a quick drink before plunging back into customer service. There was no one manning the tap, so he looked around to see who was working. Across the dance floor he saw Colin wiping down tables near the DJ booth.

“Harry!” Colin looked up and threw his arms out wide. His lovely, strong, sculpted, tattooed arms that Harry loved so much. He felt his heart swell and he let himself be folded into the other man’s embrace. Then, to his surprise, Colin kissed him. Not a quick, friendship peck, but a soft relationship type kiss. Harry’s heart swelled again.

“What brings you in so early?” Colin left his arms around Harry’s waist, further inflating his already dangerously ballooned heart.

“I’ve got a group in town for the next few days,” Harry said, his hands lightly resting on Colin’s remarkable biceps. “They wanted pizza tonight so I thought I’d stop in before it’s ready for pickup.”

“Fancy a quick pint, then?” Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Or a quick shag?”

“Well,” Harry’s face flushed. “I don’t think I have time for that. Maybe next weekend?” his voice raised hopefully. Too hopefully.

“Come in next weekend and we’ll see,” Colin smiled warmly and released him from his grip. Harry tried not to be disappointed.

“How about Saturday?” Harry insisted. “Let me take you out.”

“Harry,” Colin cocked his head tolerantly. “We’ve been through this. I’d rather just keep it open, play it by ear.”

“Right,” the air let out of Harry’s heart, and if it had been a real balloon it probably would have made a rude, flatulent sound as it did so. He had fallen for it again.

“I really mean it about the shag, though,” Colin lowered his voice and put on his most winning smile.

Harry thought hard. He was right, they’d been through this before. How many times had they hooked up for a quick shag, only for Harry to get his hopes up that it would bring them closer to something like a relationship? But it never did. Colin wanted to be free, to see whomever, whenever, and being with Harry and only Harry was not an option he was willing to consider. If Harry wanted him, he would have to share him, and he would have to be comfortable knowing that he could never be sure when or if it would happen again.

It wasn’t what he wanted.

A few weeks ago he had come to the epiphany that he couldn’t keep holding out hope that Colin would come to his senses. And that hooking up with him only made him miserable in the aftermath. He had tried to stay away, but The Magic Hat was the only place he knew where he could be comfortable and open and not feel like he had to hide his preferences. Obviously there were other gay pubs around, but this was the only one he knew. And Colin worked here. And that meant keeping his commitment to stay away from Colin was somewhat more difficult.

At this point he suspected his feelings for Collin had more to do with the fact that he was unattainable, and that he had been his first, but so far no one else had captivated his attention in the same way. Colin was the one who got away. Except he wasn’t away, he was always here, and Harry had to either give up the pub or find someone new. So far neither option had panned out. So even though he knew it was bad for him he kept coming around, getting his hopes up, and getting shot down. It had to stop.

“I can’t,” Harry said sadly, ducking his head and rubbing his neck self-consciously. “You know what I want, Colin. I don’t think it’s right for us to hook up when we want different things.” He was proud of himself for saying the words, but inside he was seething with rage at himself for sticking to his convictions.

“You’re only nineteen,” Colin said. “You can’t possibly want to settle down yet.”

Harry held his ground, although not without difficulty.

“All right,” Colin looked regretful. He tried to catch Harry’s eyes but finally gave up. “I hope to see you around,” he said hopefully. “I’m still your friend. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” Harry tried to smile bravely. “I think I’ll skip that pint, though. I’ll see you around sometime.”  
“Okay,” Colin gave Harry’s ear a quick caress and went back to his work. Harry left straight away without giving himself a chance to reconsider.

He paused in the alley for a moment to fume and rant silently at the injustice of it all. He gave himself a chance to settle his raw nerves before Apparating, just to be sure he wouldn’t splinch himself. He arrived at the pizza parlor a few minutes early, and was relieved to find his order coming out of the oven right at that moment. He wanted to head home so he could distract himself from his woe. He paid up, found a nearby alley and Disapparated for Grimmauld Place.

He pushed open the front door with his hip, hands occupied with three large boxes of pizza. Draco was just coming down the stairs with a look of annoyance on his face. Harry could hear the telly was still on, the volume cranked up to an unreasonable volume.

“Should it be that loud?” Harry asked, concerned that they couldn’t figure out how to control the remote.

“They wouldn’t stop talking over it so I turned it up until they couldn’t anymore,” Draco said bluntly. “Is that the pizza?”

“It is,” Harry said. He used his foot to slide open the dining room doors and laid the boxes out along the long table. “It will take me just a moment to set up.”

Draco followed him down into the kitchen and looked around with tightly pressed lips. “My father asked me to see if there’s a ‘proper wine cellar in this muggle death-trap,’” he dropped his voice in a startlingly accurate parody of his father’s rich baritone.

“It’s not a death trap,” Harry protested.

“Tell that to him,” Draco rolled his eyes.

“We don’t have a wine cellar but we do have wine,” Harry opened the pantry door and indicated a tall rack of wine bottles. Draco fished through them, looking at a label here and there before finally selecting one. He set it down on the oversized table and regarded the the cork blankly.

“How am I supposed to open it without a wand?” he asked. It was the kind of question Harry would have expected him to deliver with an acerbic edge, but he seemed genuinely curious.

“Corkscrew,” Harry opened a drawer and lobbed the utensil across the table to his former classmate. Belatedly he realized that the gesture was a bit too familiar for a guest.

“A what, now?” Draco held it up and eyed the twisted metal prong warily.

“I’ll do it,” Harry plucked it deftly from his hand and turned the handle to drive the screw into the cork. When it was deep enough he pressed the handles down, levering the cork out of the neck of the bottle.

“That’s barbaric,” Draco said mildly.

“The cork is out, isn’t it?” Harry held it up for inspection.

Draco looked up at him pityingly, his clear gray eyes holding Harry’s for a beat. Then his expression softened and he shrugged. “I suppose you’re right,” he said.

Harry didn’t know how to respond, or whether one was even necessary. When had Draco fucking Malfoy ever conceded a point? He gathered up the place settings and put the tray in the dumbwaiter. Draco pressed the button for the ground floor and they went up to gather his relatives.

The volume was still blaring when they entered the drawing room. Narcissa turned eagerly as they arrived and pointed excitedly at the screen. “Look, Draco!” she cried. “You’ll like this one, it’s called Dragon’s Den. Dragon’s Den!”

“It’s not really about dragons,” Harry said delicately as he turned the volume down to a more reasonable level. He couldn’t imagine they would be able to follow the programme. “Supper is here, if anyone is hungry.”

Immediately the telly was forgotten. They trooped down the stairs and crowded around the pizza boxes with curious interest. Harry helped serve the slices and poured the wine. Then he excused himself and retreated to the kitchen to eat his own supper, some leftover takeaway from earlier in the week.

He brooded about Colin, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He knew it wasn’t really about Colin, he knew there were lots of other boys out there, that the right one would come along. But Colin had been the first boy who had made him feel okay about himself, like he wasn’t an anomaly, or a pervert. He was special to Harry in a way that he never intended to be. It wasn’t his fault. It was Harry’s fault for falling for him. He blamed himself miserably and thought about all of the anonymous restroom encounters he’d had to prove to himself that Colin was right, that monogamy was absurd. He’d compromised what he wanted again and again to try to convince that damn bartender that he was the one, when there had really been no chance of that all along.

He was so absorbed in self-pity that he didn’t hear the footsteps on the stairs. When Draco showed up in the doorway he nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Were you not going to join us?” Draco asked as though he didn’t care.

“Sorry, do you need something?” Harry had been too deep in his own thoughts to catch the question.

“No, they were just wondering if you were going to join them,” Draco jerked his thumb towards the ceiling.

“They were?” Harry was surprised. He wasn’t part of their group, he was hired help. He was the tour guide.

“Well, not as such,” Draco shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “But they would probably bicker less if you were up there.”

“I’m not here to keep them from talking to each other,” Harry snorted. “Have a seat,” he gestured to the bench across from him. Draco gave him a warning look. “Arsehole,” Harry added with a smirk.

“How are you doing this?” Draco asked as he sat down, a little further away than the spot Harry had indicated. “How is this not driving you mad?”

“Is it driving you mad?”

“No,” Draco looked insulted. “But I’ve got more social grace in my little pinkie than you have in your whole sodding body.”

“Oh, you’ve been paying attention to my body?” Harry shot back saucily without thinking. To his utter shock Draco blushed and looked away. He felt pleased with himself for embarrassing his former rival enough that he couldn’t come up with a retort. “Want a beer?” Harry kindly changed the subject.

“Sure,” Draco lifted his chin proudly as his coloring returned to normal.

“It’s not driving me mad because it hasn’t been all that terrible so far,” Harry finally answered his question. “Even you have been relatively humane.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco said sharply. “I still think you’re a prat.”

“Takes one to know one,” Harry plucked two bottles from the refrigerator and popped the caps.

“What is that cabinet?” Draco squinted at the light inside.

“Fridge,” Harry said. “Keeps things cold.”

“Without magic?”

“It runs on electricity,” Harry nodded. “It’s like the muggle version of magic.”

“Why do you chill your beer?” Draco set his bottle down as though it were too cold to handle.

“Started doing it over the summer when we were doing renovations,” Harry held the bottle to his face to demonstrate. “You get all hot and sweaty doing hard labor and an icy cold beer sounds just about right.”

Draco blushed again for some reason and looked away. He sipped the chilled beverage tentatively, then grunted in appreciation. He nodded in concession, as though actually acknowledging Harry’s opinion. Unprecedented, thought Harry.

“You know what I don’t like about muggle things?” Draco said after a long pull on his bottle. “They’re inelegant. A big cabinet that keeps things cold is a pants solution. So much better to use a spell to chill just the things you want kept cold.”

“True, perhaps,” Harry sat down again and tipped his bottle back. “But it has a certain charm. And for non-magical types, a bloody good way of accomplishing the same results.”

“Innovative little mudbloods,” Draco snorted.

“We don’t use that word here,” Harry’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

Draco looked up as though startled, then glanced away quickly. Harry expected him to leave the room, to have a fit, to say something nasty in return. Instead he mumbled, “sorry,” and took another pull from his beer.

They drank in silence for a few minutes, not looking at each other or moving much. Finally Harry felt obligated to smooth things over. “Your Auntie Gliese is brilliant,” he said.

“She’s alright,” Draco shrugged. “I’d never met her until after the war. She was the only one Mother and Father trusted to transfer their fortune to when the Ministry tried to freeze their assets.”

“Is that what’s going on?” Harry suddenly understood. Auntie Gliese held the purse strings. Which meant she could force them into a muggle adventure, to go where she wanted to go, and to behave as though they enjoyed it.

“She said she’ll transfer it back now that the acquittal is final,” Draco added. “But she says we need to open our minds, to be educated first,” he rolled his eyes in an exaggeratedly pained way.

“Is she the black sheep of the Black family?” Harry asked, thinking of Walburga’s purity-obsessed portrait.

“I suppose,” Draco shrugged. “She’s the least interested in blood purity or blood loyalty. She’s also the only one we could trust with my inheritance.”

“Maybe that’s not a coincidence,” Harry knew he was treading on thin ice.

“Maybe,” Draco surprised Harry again with his mild response. He drained the rest of his bottle and stood. “I’d better go back up. I need you to show me how everything works in my room.” He looked at Harry challengingly, and Harry experienced an odd cognitive dissonance as he looked up at Draco fucking Malfoy in a fitted muggle t-shirt and jeans.

His arms were quite nice aside from the Dark Mark tattooed on his forearm, although it was less intimidating in a non-wizarding context. It sort of gave him a bad-boy vibe, Harry thought. Then he told himself to shut up.

The dining room was empty. They found Draco’s parents and Gliese in the drawing room, trying to figure out how to turn the telly back on. They bickered simultaneously as they poked and pawed at the device. Narcissa asked it to turn on while Lucius commanded it to obey. Gliese offered ineffective suggestions that just made the other two more frustrated.

“They’re like animals,” Draco said under his breath.

“Let me help,” Harry strode into the room and flipped the unit on with a click of the remote. Immediately the three of them sank into their seats and stared vacantly at the moving images.

“Do you want silky smooth skin?” an actress on the screen asked as she sensuously stroked her cheek.

“Yes, you already asked me that earlier,” Lucius said sternly. “I don’t know why she keeps asking,” he whispered to his wife.

“It’s a commercial,” Harry said, then stopped as Draco laid a hand on his arm and shook his head in disgust. There was a good chance that he didn’t understand the concept of the commercial either, but he recognized that explaining wouldn’t help.

They left the three older guests and went upstairs to the bedrooms. Draco led Harry into the first darkened room at the top of the stairs and folded his arms across his chest. “It’s dark,” he said bluntly.

“There’s a switch on the wall,” Harry pointed just inside the doorway. “Push it up.”

Draco sighed laboriously as though he had been asked to do start a fire from scratch. He pushed the switch up and the lamp on the chest of drawers flared to life. He raised an eyebrow disapprovingly at Harry, “Inelegant.”

“What else do you need?” Harry smirked and leaned against the door jamb casually.

“What is that?” Draco pointed at the digital alarm clock as though it were offensive.

“That’s a clock,” Harry said as though it were obvious.

“It’s blinking. And it’s bright,” Draco said. “And it has no hands.”

You can unplug it if you don’t like it,” Harry shrugged.

“I noticed all of these things had strings tying them to the wall,” Draco knelt down and yanked the plug free, effectively extinguishing the clock. “I assumed it was an attempt to keep people from stealing your furniture.”

Harry couldn’t help it, he laughed. He laughed hard, hard enough that he expected Draco to hurl a cutting insult at him to stop him short. Instead he chuckled before catching himself and straightening up pompously.

“You’re right,” he said haughtily. “Who would want to steal this junk?”

Harry wasn’t fooled, but he managed to quell the laughing fit. “Should I go check on the others?” he wondered.

“No,” Draco waved his hand negligently. “Show me the rest of the house.”

“Sure,” Harry shrugged. It was better than going back to his room to mope. “This room is actually the one that Ron and I shared a couple of summers ago.”

“I’m staying in the Weasel’s room?” Draco looked horrified. He grimaced, “If I catch something that turns me ginger I will expect a full refund.”

“Come on,” Harry led him out into the hall. “The loo is down there, Everything you need is in the cabinets.”

“That’s assuming a lot,” Draco said.

Harry led him to the third floor and showed each of the rooms. Finally they climbed to the fourth floor at the top of the house. “This is the honeymoon suite,” Harry pushed open the door to the former master bedroom, a large space that looked out over the street below. An oversized bed dominated the middle of the room, and a cozy settee rested in front of the fireplace.

“Expecting newlyweds to rough it for their honeymoon?” Draco scoffed. Harry might have been imagining it, but he could swear he also detected a note of impressed approval behind Draco’s outward facing criticism. He didn’t know why he cared whether he impressed his former rival. Well, probably because he was his former rival.

“Over here is my bedroom,” Harry pushed open the door to a sizeable room that looked out over the back garden. “Not that you need to know,” he added.

“Good thing you took my wand,” Draco brushed past Harry and strolled into the room. “Otherwise I’d be tempted to come up here and hex you in your sleep.”

“Good thing I’m a light sleeper,” Harry said wryly. “I’ll be on the lookout now.”

Draco sat on the edge of the bed and bounced a little, as though checking the springs. “A bit large for one person,” he said.

“Who says there has to be only one person in here?” Harry considered being insulted.

“Do you bring company over?” Draco asked. “You don’t bring muggles here, do you?”

“No,” Harry said honestly.

"Would you date one?"

"Sure," Harry shrugged. "But I don't live here. Dean and I have a flat over the shop."

"You live in Diagon Alley?" Draco's eyes bugged out like he had never imagined such a thing.

"I only sleep here if we have guests. Or if Dean and Ginny are at home and I don't want to listen to them shag."

"Isn't she his ex?" Draco frowned. "Actually isn't she your ex?"

"She's a lot of people's ex." Harry quickly corrected himself, "I don't mean that the way it sounds."

"What do I care?" Draco waved his hand dismissively. "I wouldn't shag her with a barge pole."

"Nice," Harry grimaced. "You're all class, Malfoy."

"So are you dating one?" he ignored Harry's comment. "A muggle, I mean."

"Why do you care about my love life?" Harry didn't like where this was going. He would end up having to lie, and then he would end up moping over the Colin situation more than he already was.

"I don't," Draco stood up suddenly and shoved past him. He skipped down the stairs and Harry heard his bedroom door close.

He reviewed the conversation in his head and reassured himself that he hadn't revealed anything. The last thing he needed was Draco fucking Malfoy finding out that he liked boys. He would never hear the end of it.


	6. Chapter 6

The next day Harry woke early and took a quick shower before descending to the kitchen and cooking breakfast. Part of the package deal was a full English breakfast every morning, served in the comfort of the dining room. It was his idea, and in fact he'd had to coach Dean a bit to bring his cooking skills up to par. Harry was quite an experienced cook, having made breakfast for the Dursleys for years before he finally gained his freedom. He found it quite enjoyable, although he did permit himself the luxury of using Molly Weasley's domestic spells to clean up afterwards.

He was flipping the bacon when he heard bare feet on the stairs. He glanced over his shoulder as Draco slumped into the kitchen in satin pyjamas bottoms, rumpled hair, and nothing else. Harry swallowed hard at the sight of his svelte chest, no longer the scrawny thing he'd been during their early days at Hogwarts. And of course there were his commendable arms that Harry had noted the day before.

Stop it.

Draco flopped down on the bench at the oversized table and laid his head in his arms. "Tell me you're making coffee," he moaned sleepily.

"It's on the stove," Harry pointed with his spatula.

"I can't function without it," Draco said forlornly.

Harry waved his hand and levitated a mug from one of the hooks at the end of the kitchen. He caught it deftly and filled it, then waved it over to the table. He landed it without spilling a drop.

"I saw that," Draco was slumped over as far as he could go without resting his chin on the wood. "Since when do you do wandless magic?"

"Since always," Harry pulled the bacon pan off of the burner before the meat could burn.

"Sodding Saint Potter," Draco grumped as he took a big sip.

Harry smothered a chuckle and loaded up a pair of trays with covered platters. He slipped a cosy over the teapot and arranged the cutlery. Draco hauled himself to his feet and strode pointedly to the dumbwaiter and pressed the button for the ground floor before Harry could do it. He nodded approvingly as the machinery rumbled to life, then returned to his seat.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asked.

"Of course I am, what kind of question is that?" Draco rubbed his face with his hand.

"The food is going up," Harry pointed out.

"Are you eating up there it down here?"

"Down here."

"Then I am, too," Draco's tone dared Harry to defy him. "I can't face those people this early," he added.

Harry suppressed another chuckle and went up to set out the spread of food. Lucius, Narcissa and Gliese were just on their way down so he served them and poured the tea. He retrieved the stack of Daily Prophets that Dean had shoved through the Floo and they each accepted a copy, probably so they wouldn't have to speak to each other. When they were properly sorted Harry returned to the kitchen.

Without asking he fried up a few more eggs and tomatoes and then made two plates. He slid a plate across the table and then sat down with his own breakfast. Draco tucked in as though he hadn't eaten in days.

"My mother would kill me if she knew I was dining without a shirt," he said around a mouthful of beans.

"I'll be sure to use that for leverage," Harry sipped his coffee.

"I hate to admit it, but you make a passable breakfast, Potter," Draco seemed a bit more awake now that he'd had some caffeine.

"I've had lots of practice."

"It's like a morning-after breakfast," he added. "Except without the bother of sex the night before."

"Since when is sex a bother?" Harry snorted.

"You've clearly never dated Pansy Parkinson," Draco closed his eyes as though pained. "Turned me off of the lot of them, I swear."

Harry laughed, and this time he didn't feel obligated to hide it.

Since it was Thursday they decided to visit Parliament. They paid extra to do the full guided tour, even though many of the cultural references and history were lost on them. It had often amazed Harry that muggle history had been excluded from the Hogwarts curriculum. How could they coexist if they didn't even know the history of their neighbors?

After the tour they saw the opulent chamber of the House of Lords, which stunned the wizards into silence, and then stopped in to listen to a House of Commons debate. Lucius was fascinated by the process, if a bit confused by the issue on the docket. He understood taxation, certainly, but things like petrol and modern military funding and urban infrastructure were beyond his comprehension.

Harry couldn't help wondering if he was making mental notes and thinking about a future attempt to overthrow the ministry. Come on, be nice, he told himself.

They were well past midday by the time Lucius was ready to leave, in spite of the fact that everyone else had been ready for hours. They found a lovely place to dine nearby and once recuperated decided what to do with the rest of their day. Gliese insisted upon visiting the palace, even though they were concerned about all of the walking at her age. She drew herself up regally and said she would not miss out on this “once in a lifetime chance” so they stopped arguing and went on their way.

It was a full day of tourism and by the time evening fell they were all worn out. They had supper at a stylish restaurant in the heart of the city, and to Harry’s relief they were too exhausted to bicker the way they had the day before. After supper they headed back to the house on Grimmauld and the guests all gravitated to the telly in the drawing room.

Draco followed Harry down to the kitchen without a second thought and even helped him put together the tray of wine glasses and little nibbly treats. Once again he blocked Harry from switching on the dumbwaiter, insisting silently upon doing it himself. Once the older trio were served he followed Harry out into the hall.

“What’s the nightlife like around here?” he asked.

“Are you interested in seeing a muggle pub?” Harry asked, immediately squashing the notion of taking Draco fucking Malfoy to The Magic Hat.

“Anything to get out of here and a break from them,” Draco tipped his head in the direction of his parents.

“Will they mind if we go out and leave them here?”

“They won’t mind, I’ll go tell them.”

Harry waited dutifully while Draco struggled to distract his parents from the telly. They waved him away in annoyance and he took that as an affirmative. He rejoined Harry in the hall and gestured to his clothing questioningly. Harry helped him pick out something a bit nicer than the jeans and t-shirt he had selected that morning and then picked something for himself. Nothing flashy, just a nicely fitted button-down and charcoal gray trousers. Draco had opted for mostly black, of course, but he’d at least selected styles that would fit in.

They exited the house and Harry led Draco to the nearby alley. Without asking he grasped the other boy’s arm and Disapparated to the nearby pub district. They landed in the alley he usually used to visit The Magic Hat but he quickly led Draco across the street to a more traditional club. It was Thursday night so there was a line at the door and a bouncer approving entries. He walked up to the bouncer with a confident smile, and after a quick up-and-down glance he let both of them in.

“What was that about?” Draco asked as they passed through the entryway into the much louder club interior. “Did you know him?”

“No,” Harry called over his shoulder. “If they don’t like how you look you have to wait in line until there’s room. If you look good, they let you in straight away.”

“How did you know we both looked good enough to get in?” Draco asked.

Harry paused with his mouth open, and then arrested his first response. “I just did,” he finally said. Draco held his eye suspiciously for a moment but let it go. They stopped at the bar for a pint and then scanned the room.

“It’s more of a club than a pub,” Harry shouted over the thumping beat. “But this gives you an idea of what muggles like. Fast, heavy beats, lots of dancing, lots of beer.” He looked around at the crowd of dancers and indicated a group of girls in skimpy dresses and gobs of mascara. “Lots of talent,” he added.

Draco’s eyes slipped over them and kept moving. Harry realized he hadn’t even asked him if he was in a relationship. He assumed the request to go out also included an interest in finding a hookup. Oh well, he could take care of himself like anyone else. Harry didn’t see anyone interesting, not that he would do anything about it if he did.

A pair of girls approached confidently, one blonde and one brunette. The blonde cozied up to Harry and the brunette slipped her arm through Draco’s. Draco seemed nonplussed by the familiarity. Harry knew what they wanted and raised a finger to the bartender for service. The girls ordered and then returned to him and Draco with drinks in hand. He wondered if Draco had picked up on the dynamic. It was too loud to talk so the girls tugged them over to a curved booth in the corner and slid onto the vinyl seat beside them.

“Are you from here?” the blonde girl yelled over the music.

“I am,” Harry answered, “He’s not.”

“Where are you from?” the brunette girl asked Draco, trailing her fingers lightly up his arm.

“Wiltshire,” he said shortly, his eyes locked onto her hand.

It turned out the girls were locals, and this was their regular haunt. Harry had figured that this was their usual routine, finding a couple of blokes and getting a few free drinks in exchange for some light affection. But if Draco played his cards right, he very well could get lucky. Harry wondered if he should pull him aside for a quick level-set about the situation.

The drinks came regularly once they sat down. Harry drank more than he probably should have, considering he needed to Apparate safely with a guest. Draco kept the pace, pint for pint, becoming more pissed by the minute. The girls were holding their own, putting away an impressive number of cocktails but still maintaining at least the illusion of sobriety.

Harry was exhausted from the day’s tour of the political backbone of the UK. He laid his head back and closed his eyes and let the throb of drums wash over him. The blonde girl sat to his right with his arm tossed casually around her shoulders. Closing his eyes also afforded him a good excuse to avoid engaging with her physically, an idea he wasn’t interested in even as a diversion.

When he felt his left ear caressed he didn’t think much of it at first. He was just at the point where he’d drunk enough to feel blissful but not enough to feel overly emotional. The caress made him feel warm in his stomach and he smiled automatically. The fingers extended and ran through his hair, eliciting goosebumps down his arm. He opened his eyes and looked down, but the blond girl was busy texting on her mobile. He rolled his head to the side, and that was when he realized what was happening.

Draco had the brunette girl in his lap, his left hand under her skirt and down the back of her knickers. He was squeezing her arse as they snogged slowly and deeply. His eyes were closed as his mouth worked against hers. Her hands grasped his pale blond hair and stroked his jaw sensually. His right arm, however, was doing its own thing, stretched across the back of the seat, his fingers caressing Harry’s ear.

What in bloody Merlin’s ghost was he doing?

Harry’s dulled reflexes didn’t respond at first. He could feel what was happening, he could see what was happening, but he didn’t know how to react. It was quite a lovely feeling, those fingers pressing gently across his scalp. And he’d admitted to himself several times that Draco was quite passable in the physical department. Possibly better than passable, actually. Handsome, really, if he really had to admit it to himself.

But what was he doing, and why? Did he think he was caressing Harry’s girl’s ear? Did he know he was touching Harry and not the girl in his lap? He had drunk a lot, anything was possible. As Harry woozily pondered the options Draco’s right eye cracked open and he snuck a peek at Harry. He held Harry’s gaze directly, no evasiveness anywhere to be found. There was no mistaking it, Draco knew he was touching him. What to do, what to do?

Suddenly the brunette girl lost her balance and slipped off of Draco’s lap, knocking over an empty pint glass. Draco and Harry scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor, and just like that the moment was gone. The girls thanked them for a nice evening and slipped away into the crowd, probably on the lookout for more sober men who would buy them a few more drinks. Harry settled the tab and they made their way out of the club into the warm late summer air.

Harry was too drunk to Apparate and told Draco as much. They wandered up the street for a bit, then crossed and came back down. Harry didn’t even think about passing The Magic Hat. Steve was working the door and called out to him by name as they drew near. Suddenly Harry felt stone cold sober. He was too scared to look at Draco. Would he notice that everyone in line here was male? Did he have a point of reference for gay bars in the wizarding community? Would he realize that there could be only one reason why the bouncer at a gay bar would know Harry by name?

“Hi Steve,” Harry said weakly. Steve offered him a hug, which Harry felt he couldn’t refuse.

“Coming in tonight?” Steve asked. “Colin’s not on.”

“No, sorry,” Harry blushed furiously, first at the mention of Colin’s name in front of Draco fucking Malfoy, and second at the fact that Steve knew what Harry’s reasons were for coming around. It made him feel a bit pathetic.

“Who’s your friend?” Steve asked.

“This is Draco,” Harry jerked his thumb over his shoulder, still too mortified to make eye contact with his former nemesis.

“Alright, Draco?” Steve shook his hand.

“Smashing,” Draco said drunkenly, and Harry hoped he was too pissed to piece together the clues.

“I’ll see you around,” Harry said quickly and moved down the walk. He wondered fleetingly if Steve would mention to Colin that he’d stopped by in the company of another man.

His head had been shocked into clarity, so he figured now was the time to Disapparate. He caught Draco by the sleeve and dragged him down an alleyway. He paused for a breath to make sure he was clear headed enough to make the attempt.

“That guy was nice. He knew you,” Draco said suddenly. “How did he know you?”

“I come down here sometimes after doing renovation work at the house,” Harry said as simply as he could.

“You’ve got a smart little muggle life here, don’t you?” Draco was slurring a bit, swaying just slightly.

“Only part of the time,” Harry’s racing heart slowed as the adrenaline spike of being recognized faded away.

“I don’t get out much these days,” Draco frowned and blinked heavily. “It would be nice to get out and meet nice people.”

“We should be getting back,” Harry reached out and grasped Draco’s arm.

Suddenly Draco surged forward and pressed Harry up against the brick wall. He propped a hand on either side of Harry’s shoulders and stared intently into his eyes, his breath heavy with drink. Harry’s heart froze, not sure what to do. Draco was so close, and he was peering into Harry’s eyes as though he could see into his soul. His eyes flicked to Harry’s mouth and he licked his lips, and instantly he had Harry’s full attention. They looked at each other, neither one moving forward or back, although Harry didn’t really have the option of moving back with the brick wall pressed up behind him.

He could feel Draco’s breath on his face, he was so close, so close. But Harry couldn’t trust his senses when he was pissed like this. For all he knew, this was a stance of aggression that he was misinterpreting in his inebriation. Draco drew closer, his nose nearly brushing Harry’s. But how could there be any way to misinterpret this, Harry thought. Then again, what if he was wrong? The consequences could be dramatic.

Draco’s eyes were mere centimeters away, the clearest, softest gray Harry had ever seen. If he blinked, he would almost bump Harry’s glasses with his eyelashes. Harry begged his hands to stay where they were, to not humiliate him now. No touching, he told himself firmly. He would never live it down if he couldn’t contain his urges.

Draco tipped his chin and moved closer, his lips nearly grazing Harry’s. Sweet Merlin’s pants.

Just then a pair of girls pelted past the end of the alleyway, giggling and shrieking as two boys ran after them with hands outstretched. Draco and Harry flew apart, their hands suddenly busied with their hair and clothes. Harry muttered something about getting back and grasped Draco’s elbow in a businesslike manner. Then he Disapparated them directly to the alley near the house. Without a word they went inside and walked up the stairs. Draco went into his room and closed the door silently while Harry continued up two more flights.

He was grateful to those two girls for startling him back to his senses. When he thought about what he had almost done, the way he’d almost been unable to contain himself, he was terribly embarrassed.


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning Harry awoke hungover and exhausted. He showered and dressed quickly and then slumped down to the kitchen for a remedy. He kept a small selection of crucial potions in the cabinet over the sink, and right now what he needed was the hangover cure.

He had barely knocked back a dram when he heard bare feet on the wooden stairs. Draco dragged himself to the table and collapsed as though dying. He moaned and wallowed dramatically until Harry pushed the potion bottle towards him.

"Bloody hell, that hit the spot," Draco gasped as his head cleared and his stomach settled. He was shirtless again, nothing but satiny trousers adorning his lithe figure.

"Better?" Harry capped the potion and slipped it back inside the cabinet.

"Muggle Adventures, my arse," Draco pointed. "You're packing potions, you wanker."

"Only for emergencies," Harry said firmly. "I'd better not catch you down here rummaging through my supplies later."

"Piss off, where's my breakfast?" Draco said rudely, although the curl of his lip suggested he was teasing.

Harry was caught between the uncomfortable sloshy, possibly inaccurate memory of the previous night's events and Draco's, well, could he call it friendliness? Perhaps he didn't recall what had happened. Perhaps Harry was overthinking it. How many times had he done something embarrassing at a piss-up, only to be forgiven later? It was part and parcel of the whole drinking experience, really. Draco didn't seem to think anything of it, so he should probably let it go, too.

He wondered briefly if this might be part of his problem with Colin. He overthought everything instead of letting it go. He wondered if he was neurotic.

"Coming right up, sir," Harry turned to the stove and set a pan over the flame. He waved his hand and summoned the butter, then floated the egg carton and a slab of bacon.

"Now you're just showing off," Draco leaned on his elbows and rolled his eyes. "Besides, coffee first, food second."

"Coffee is in there, second shelf," Harry pointed with his wooden spoon without looking up.

Draco padded over to the pantry and retrieved the coffee grounds. Without being asked he dumped a handful into the French press and set the kettle over a burner to boil. Harry was keenly aware that they were standing shoulder to shoulder at the stove, except Draco's shoulder had nothing covering it. He was just slightly taller than Harry, maybe an inch or so. Just enough so that it would be quite comfortable if he slipped his arm around Harry's shoulder.

He told his brain to fuck off.

"Come on," Draco stared at the coffee pot as though he could will it to brew.

"A watched pot never boils," Harry said mildly, refusing to move to accommodate Draco's attempt to dominate the stove. Their biceps bumped as Harry set various food items over the remaining burners.

"It does if you use Incendio," Draco shot back. He, too, refused to budge.

"A bigger fire doesn't make it boil faster," Harry snorted.

"I would Incendio this whole kitchen if it would make it boil faster." Draco's tone was woeful and dramatic.

"You could make the toast while you wait," Harry waved over a loaf of sliced bread and pointed to the chrome electrical device.

Draco snatched the bread out of the air and eyed the toaster warily. "In the slots, right?" He asked.

"Yes, just slip it in and push that little lever down," Harry said as he put the mushrooms on to heat.

Draco peered over the top of the appliance as the heating element warmed up and glowed red. His face was right over the slots and Harry knew exactly what was coming up. He tried not to show any anticipation and give it away. When the toast popped up Draco yelped and leaped back with his hand clutching his heart. Harry laughed so hard he nearly had to sit down.

"Did you know it was going to do that?" Draco's eyes were as round as dinner plates. He looked as though the life had been scared out of him.

"That's what toasters do," Harry said when he was able to speak.

"In. Elegant," Draco pointed sharply on each syllable. He removed the toast and loaded in two more slices.

Harry assembled the remaining components of the meal and started stacking them on the trays. He popped the cosy over the teapot and turned to retrieve the toast.

"Oh," he said mildly. "I see you’ve done the whole loaf."

Draco was standing smugly with a coffee mug raised to his lips. A tall, crooked stack of toasted bread rose like a tower from the stone countertop. Harry stared at it in bemusement, wondering what on earth to do with it all.

"It took a few tries but I'm pretty good at it now," Draco said proudly.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling and put a few slices on the tray. He slipped the food into the dumbwaiter and before he could press the button Draco darted around him and did it himself. He raised an eyebrow challengingly, as though daring Harry to tell him he shouldn't.

"Be right back," Harry shook his head and went upstairs to serve. The older guests were in the dining room, having found the Daily Prophets by the fireplace. They greeted him pleasantly as he served, and even Lucius seemed to be in a good mood. Harry wondered if getting away from the temptation of magic was good for some people.

He returned to the kitchen and found Draco cracking eggs into the pan with none of the clumsy incompetence of his toaster adventure. Harry didn't know what to do with himself. Everything else was prepared. He sidled up to the stove and peered into the pan to make sure nothing was getting burnt. Draco jutted his elbow into his ribs and knocked him aside.

"I've got it," he said with a sneer. "I'm not completely useless, you know."

"Frying an egg without a shirt seems unnecessarily risky," Harry backed off and poured himself a cup of coffee. 

"Breakfast and a show," Draco gently folded in the whites with the spatula. "I used to make breakfast for myself during the war," he added, his voice softer and distant. "One of the few comforts I could afford myself."

He slipped two eggs onto a plate and assembled the remaining components, including a slice of toast from the bread tower. He shoved the plate into Harry's hands and pointed his elbow at the table. Harry obediently sat, not really sure why his former schoolmate was serving him. Draco topped off his coffee and then sat with his own plate and mug.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, and Harry had to admit that the eggs were passable. He had expected much worse. He wondered if he should make an effort to be more charitable.

"I may have overdone it on the toast," Draco said suddenly. He looked up questioningly, eyebrows raised.

"It’s okay," Harry shrugged. "We can..." he frowned, wondering what they could do with a stack of toast that would be too stale to use by morning. "We can feed ducks," he finished weakly. Draco shook his head as though it were all Harry's fault.

When they were finished Draco went back upstairs to shower and dress while Harry set the cleaning charms in motion. The guests had figured out that they could dress and fit themselves in the clothing room so they were ready to go by the time he emerged from the kitchen.

To his surprise Lucius was wearing a t-shirt, a fitted black one with graphic flames rising from the hem and sleeves. He wore dark jeans and black boots, and with his long blond hair he looked somewhat like a rockstar. Harry was impressed and wondered if Lucius would keep his selection if he knew how his style would be perceived.

Narcissa wore a flowered sundress and a broad straw hat. The ensemble made her look ten years younger than she was, and Harry thought she actually looked quite pretty. Gliese was wearing a pink tank top and a long floral skirt, with a shawl around her shoulders that she might have brought from home.

Draco emerged from the dressing room in a slim-fitted sapphire blue rugby shirt with white vertical stripes running up the sides that emphasized his long torso. Harry rebuked himself sharply for the observation, but it was true. Harry felt a bit plain in his conservative collared button-down and khaki trousers, and rebuked himself again.

They assembled in the drawing room to discuss their options for the day. They didn't know what they wanted to do, so they looked to Harry for suggestions.

"You still want to do the football game tomorrow, right?" Harry asked. "Gliese, you mentioned to Dean that you were interested in DIY. We could spend the day seeing some of the normal muggle ways of getting things done. Visit a grocer, a chemist, a post office and a DIY warehouse. There's one near here that does workshops where they teach you how to do projects. Proper muggle projects by hand," he added.

Lucius and Narcissa blanched at the suggestion. Draco popped his Wayfarers onto his face and looked disinterested in the decision. So Gliese made the decision for them and they departed to do exactly as Harry had said.

Harry directed the taxi to the nearest Tesco, figuring his guests could marvel at the wide aisles and variety of packaged goods. As he expected they were dumbfounded by the sheer volume of available foodstuffs. He had to keep urging them along as he pushed the trolley down the aisles. He picked up a fresh loaf of sliced bread to replace the one Draco had toasted, a selection that did not go unnoticed by the blond boy. Draco smirked and hefted the loaf thoughtfully.

"I think I'll sneak down there while you're sleeping and toast the whole thing again," he said with a devilish grin.

Once Narcissa and Gliese realized what the trolley was for, they started picking out items to bring home for sampling. The brighter the packaging colors, the more likely they were to want them. They picked out biscuits and cereal and crisps and canned peas and brightly hued beverages and soon the basket was nearly overflowing.

"This is going to cost a lot," Harry warned them as Narcissa read the label on a packet of seasoning to Lucius. Gliese dropped a bottle of salad dressing into the cart with a generous smile.

"I'm sure it's fine, dear," she said in a mothering tone.

Harry was at a dangerous intersection with his guests. Gliese was treating him like one of her brood, using pet names and deferring to his opinion. Lucius had stopped glowering and Narcissa didn't seem at all intimidated by his presence anymore. Draco was practically joking around with him. He reminded himself that he was not on holiday with them. He was facilitating their holiday. He was hired help. They seemed to have forgotten, but he couldn't afford to.

He lagged behind the four wizards, pushing the heavily laden cart along, wondering what they would do with their purchases when they got home. Suddenly they drew up short, stunned into silence. Harry wheeled up behind them and peered over their shoulders to see what had halted them.

"What is--"

Draco grabbed his hand. It was a dramatic gesture, probably meant in irony, but he held it tightly, his fingers wrapped like a vice around Harry’s. Seconds ticked by, maybe two, maybe fifty, but Harry couldn't afford the brain space to determine that for sure. Because every synapse was presently occupied, shouting, "Are you aware that Draco fucking Malfoy is holding your hand?"

Yes, brain, please calm down.

It shouldn't have rattled him, not this badly, he thought. It was a joke, a familiar play on his family's muggle naïveté, a false awe put on for effect. But the fact remained that he had swept Harry's hand up in his own and was now, at this moment, holding it.

Well maybe swept was an overly romantic way to describe it. He had grabbed it, snatched it, even. Sweeping it up would probably be followed by pressing his lips to Harry's knuckles, or lightly stroking his palm--

Bloody hell, no.

It was a silly thing, except another moment passed and he was still holding on, and his mother was commenting about the chill in the air, and Lucius was eyeing the slabs of frozen meat suspiciously, and Gliese had found the ice lolly case and Draco was still holding his fucking hand.

Harry couldn't move. He had no options, no control, not until the other boy let go. What was he supposed to do, curl his fingers and return the grip? Walk away like he didn't care? Wait, did he care? He stood with one hand on the trolley and one hand locked in Draco's ironic, surely ironic grip, and he just had to wait. He was like a kitten held by the scruff of its neck, limp and helpless and unable to escape.

Finally Draco turned with a glint of crazed delight in his eye. "Ice cream?" he asked breathlessly.

Harry nodded his head, the only part of his body he could move at the moment.

And just as suddenly as it came, the grip was released. Draco let go and ran to Gliese's side, where she was rattling off flavours of products in the frozen novelty case.

Harry exhaled, completely and unjustifiably shaken. If he was honest with himself, the contact had probably been less than a minute in duration, not terribly intimate, and clearly meant as a bit of a dramatized reaction to the frozen wonderland ahead of them. Certainly nothing to get worked up over.

His cheeks burned with humiliation. He was ashamed that he had reacted the way he had. That he'd reacted at all. There was no way anything would or could happen, so what was he thinking? He quickly scrambled for his mobile and acted preoccupied, to give himself a moment to compose his expression.

"They'll melt all over the place," Narcissa was protesting as Gliese directed Draco to pile boxes of frozen treats into the cart.

"Draco said Harry has a fridge," Gliese waved her away.

"Then what? We don't have a fridge," Narcissa crossed her arms across her chest. "We can't take it with us, and we can’t eat all of that before we leave on Sunday."

"We can leave what we don't use," Draco said. "Potter and Thomas can use it for their next guests."

"It's really all right," Harry looked up and pocketed his phone.

"Only two," Narcissa said firmly, showing the first backbone since their arrival. She and Gliese exchanged stern looks until Gliese finally conceded with a smile.

This kicked off an intense debate about which two. They finally decided on a multi-flavour pack of ice lollies and a carton of chocolate ice cream. Harry tried to tell them the ice cream wouldn't be much different from what they'd had at Florean Fortescue's shop at Diagon Alley, but they wouldn't listen. It was muggle ice cream, churned with machines and electricity, and that was different enough.

They finally made their way to the registers to ring up a fortune of groceries. Harry converted the total to Galleons and whispered it into Gliese's ear. She giggled hysterically but told him to continue. Harry paid up and hoped their account at Gringotts was as good as their reputation said. If not, he would eat the cost of a trolley full of groceries he didn't even want.

They flagged down a taxi and piled the bags into the boot. Which of course meant they had to stop off at Grimmauld Place to drop them off. And of course thanks to the Fidelius Charm Harry couldn't carry the bags in straight away, not without making the driver privy to its secret. So instead he piled the bags onto the curb as everyone climbed out. Harry tried to swallow a sigh as the black cab departed and he tallied up the number of trips it would take to get everything inside.

"Help him, Draco dear," Gliese patted his shoulder.

Draco looked up from his sunglasses with surprise and realized what Harry was doing. He hefted several bags in both hands and followed Harry up the stairs. Between the two of them, with every finger hooking a bag and arm muscles straining they managed to get it all in one go. The older guests chose to wait out front in the lovely midday breeze.

"Hurry up, my arms are breaking," Draco grunted as they hobbled down the stairs to the kitchen.

They deposited their load onto the oversized table and stared at it in mutual disbelief for a moment.

"Why did we buy all of this?" Draco wondered aloud.

"Marketing," Harry said, searching the bags for frozen items that needed to be put away first. He was still feeling awkward from the little hand-holding episode and didn’t know how to speak to Draco in its wake.

"What's that?"

"It means they put colors and words on the packages that made you want them, even though you didn't need them," Harry crammed groceries into the fridge wherever they would fit. "The muggle world is overrun by marketing."

"I didn't notice," Draco said, unpacking bags and setting items in a row for Harry to put away.

"It's sneaky," Harry said. "Think of it this way. Say you've got a nimbus X90. Fastest broom around. Now lets say Firebolt makes a broom exactly as fast. They want people to buy their broom, too. But why should anyone buy it if it isn’t any better? They would have to make you think you need it. Make the handle a different color. Put a fancier name on it. That's marketing."

Draco frowned thoughtfully. "Sounds dastardly."

"No," Harry shook his head. "It's how lots of things work. When you don’t really have anything to prove your worth, you rely on false promises. Like telling people purebloods are better than halfbloods or mudbloods so they'll pledge their loyalty to you and throw their lives away."

Draco's eyes flashed darkly. Harry instantly regretted his words. Everything had been going so pleasantly. He supposed he was a little annoyed with Draco for putting him off-kilter, and perhaps he was fatigued from the strain of customer care. Or maybe he was angry that Draco had tapped into a feeling of powerless frustration and desire that only Colin had been able to touch, and he needed to lash out, to hurt him a bit for doing so. Not a good excuse.

Draco started to turn away, as though to head upstairs without a word. Harry darted his hand out and caught Draco by the fingers to stop his retreat. The Slytherin boy looked up in surprise, anger still carving a groove between his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Draco peered at him, and Harry decided the look in his eyes wasn’t anger, it was hurt. He had let his guard down, shown a side of himself that Harry had to believe few people had seen, and Harry had lashed out at him for no good reason.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, gently tugging Draco’s hand, feeling totally helpless to undo what he’d said. Draco stepped towards him, his expression guarded and wounded. Without thinking Harry pulled him all the way into an embrace. Draco stood stiffly with his arms at his sides. Harry didn’t know why he was hugging him, it just seemed like he needed to, so he could show somehow that he really didn’t want to be enemies. Not anymore.

He released Draco and stepped back, ducking his head and going back to the groceries. He didn’t know what else to do. Draco stood and watched silently for a moment, as though rooted to the spot. Finally he started unpacking bags again and setting items out for Harry to put away. When they were done they went upstairs so they could get on with their day. Harry excused himself and stopped off in the loo.

He relieved himself and cleaned his glasses, and as he was washing his hands he caught his own eye in the mirror. He glared sternly at his reflection. “Pull yourself together,” he said firmly. “You’re upset about Colin and you’re taking it out on everyone else.” He thought hard and pulled up a word he’d heard his Aunt Petunia use after hearing it on the telly once. “It’s transference,” he said, proud of himself for remembering the complex term. “You like Colin, but you can’t have Colin. So you’ve projected that onto Malfoy,” He nodded, agreeing with himself. Merlin, he was losing it.

He opened the door and jumped as he realized Draco was waiting for him in the foyer. Had he heard anything?

“Were you talking to yourself?” Draco eyed him warily.

“A little bit,” Harry said truthfully.

“It’s finally happened,” Draco shook his head sadly. “The Malfoys have finally driven Harry Potter mad.” He cocked his head to the side. “The Dark Lord would have been so proud.”

Harry winced. He didn’t know whether Draco was serious or if he should laugh.

“Gotcha,” Draco smiled apologetically and reached out to squeeze Harry’s hand.

There was a lot of hand holding going on today.

Harry smiled weakly back. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said. “Sometimes I say things without thinking.”

“That’s why you were sorted into Gryffindor, you know,” Draco was still holding his hand. Harry’s stomach felt funny.

“I was almost sorted into Slytherin,” Harry said.

“Really?” Draco raised an eyebrow. “Now that would have changed everything.”

He was still holding Harry’s hand. Harry didn’t know what to make of it. He knew what he wanted to make of it, but he didn’t want to jump to conclusions. It could just be a friendly gesture, of course. And Harry had set the precedent for that in the kitchen. So reading something into it would be a terrible idea. He looked up into Draco’s eyes to try to figure out what he was thinking, but just at that moment the front door handle jiggled.

They let go simultaneously as the door swung open, revealing the elder Malfoys. “Are you coming?” Lucius demanded haughtily. “There’s only so much standing around on sidewalks that I will tolerate.”

“We’re coming,” Draco said with annoyance. They exited and Harry locked the door behind him, although with the Fidelius Charm it was probably unnecessary. He waved down a taxi and they all piled in. Harry directed the driver to the nearest B&Q DIY warehouse and they were off towards their next experience.


	8. Chapter 8

They were lucky enough to arrive at a location where how-to workshops were in session. Harry signed them up and they wandered around for a half hour until it was time to start. His guests were less impressed by the shop, possibly because the building supplies were less vibrant and somewhat unidentifiable in nature. They passed an aisle full of shiny new toilets and Narcissa blushed and buried her face in her husband’s shoulder. Gliese wandered through the lighting department, marveling at the decorative sconces and lanterns.

“Potter!” Draco called from the next aisle. Harry rounded the endcap and found Draco standing with his arms folded in front of a display of light switches. “These don’t work,” he said disapprovingly. He jabbed a finger out and flipped one of the display units, and of course nothing happened.

“They’re not hooked up or anything,” Harry said. “It just shows you what they look like.”

“How am I supposed to know if I want it if I can’t see what it does?”

“You know what it does. It’s a light switch.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Draco said knowingly. He pointed disapprovingly at the display. “Marketing.”

“Sort of,” Harry scratched his head.

Just then the store announced the start of their workshop. They rounded up Gliese, Narcissa and Lucius and headed to the back of the warehouse, where an employee was handing out orange smocks. Harry suddenly wished he had the power to freeze time, or that he could get away with snapping a photo on his mobile. Because no one back home would ever believe him if he told them that he got the Malfoy family to put on orange smocks and participate in a DIY workshop.

“What are you smirking at?” Draco hissed under his breath as the instructor handed out materials.

“You’re wearing smocks!” Harry grinned, his voice overflowing with delight.

“You just wait until I get my wand back,” Draco’s mouth twitched as he tried to hold his scowl. Harry knew better.

The workshop was for basic woodworking skills. The instructor showed them how to nail two boards together, to sand them and putty the joints, then put down a coat of primer. Harry did fine, but the others struggled. Draco at least tried to keep up with Harry, even if it meant doing manual work. Lucius and Narcissa could barely hold the hammer without cringing, and Gliese was unable to produce enough strength to pound a nail or sand a board.

Harry was moving quickly, trying to finish first while Draco pursed his lips and attempted to outdo him. He was absorbed in applying primer when he heard an unusual sound. It was lilting, musical, and if he didn’t know better, happy. He and Draco looked up at the same time. Narcissa was laughing. She had accidentally smeared wood putty down Lucius’ arm, eliciting a look of horror as it dried on his skin. He held his arm aloft, mouth agape, eyes wide, as Narcissa giggled uncontrollably. Draco looked over at Harry with utter disbelief in his eyes. Harry wondered if she had ever laughed like that before, and if so, how long it had been since her son had heard it.

Still more shocking, Lucius blinked and then a smile broke across his face. Not a huge smile, but a smile nonetheless. His brow was furrowed, his eyes were bewildered, but he smiled at his wife as though he were seeing her for the first time. He chuckled and shook his head as though he didn’t understand what was so funny.

“Do you see that?” Draco asked Harry quietly. “I don’t know what that is.”

“That’s your parents enjoying each other,” Harry said.

“I don’t know what that is,” Draco repeated, holding his eyes pointedly.

“Sometimes children forget that their parents are people, too,” Gliese said mildly as she dabbed paint on her project. “They loved each other once, and perhaps they still do in their own way.”

“Not in my lifetime,” Draco frowned and went back to his painting.

The instructor helped Lucius clean up and declared both Harry’s and Draco’s projects passable. They were all allowed to keep their smocks, although they knew well enough to remove them before leaving the store.

“I could use a rest,” Gliese said as Harry hailed a cab. “What else did you want to show us today?”

“It’s not what I want to show you,” Harry said quickly. “It’s whatever you want to do. You’d mentioned wanting to see a chemist’s shop but we can head back to the house if you’d like to rest instead.”

“If no one minds,” Gliese said apologetically.

They piled into the car and headed back to Grimmauld Place once again. They were all a bit worn out from the superstore shopping experience, and agreed that a nap sounded brilliant. The elder guests retreated to their rooms, leaving Draco and Harry in the hall.

“I don’t really feel like napping,” Draco said.

“I can turn on the telly for you,” Harry offered. Draco nodded.

Harry switched it on and found a nature programme, then went down to the kitchen to put together a tray of drinks and snacks. He sent it up via the dumbwaiter and went back up to the drawing room. He set out the tray on the coffee table and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked.

“I was thinking about lying down,” Harry said truthfully.

“I’ll be bored,” Draco said.

“You can come up and talk at me while I sleep,” Harry joked.

“Okay,” Draco stood and waved him out of the room.

Harry was nonplussed. He hadn’t expected Draco to respond, much less favorably. They left the refreshments and climbed the three flights of stairs to Harry’s room. Draco closed the door behind him and flopped into a chair by the window. Harry stood in the middle of the rug, not quite sure what to do with himself.

“Go ahead,” Draco waved his hand dismissively. “You said you were going to nap and that I could talk while you sleep.”

“Sure,” Harry laid down on his back and folded his hands across his abdomen. He stared at the ceiling and wondered whether he was really expected to try to sleep. Why was he playing along?

Draco leaned forward in his chair, elbows on his knees, and he gazed out over the back garden. The house had a small sliver of land that was fenced on all sides and protected from detection by the same Fidelius Charm that hid the house. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to feel awkward about his former school rival sitting in his room while he rested. He consciously slowed his breathing and willed his muscles to relax. He removed his glasses and set them on the side table, and nestled his head into the pillow. He could just make out the sound of birds outside, and the occasional rumble of trucks on the nearby roads.

“You’re right, you know,” Draco said finally, his voice low and introspective. “He did sell us the story that purebloods are better.”

Harry was instantly alert. Once again he regretted having brought it up. He shouldn’t have put it in Draco’s head. He wished he could go back in time and unspeak those words.

“It started long before I was born,” Draco said. “My mother’s family were some of the worst offenders. They were the kind of people that put it into the Dark Lord’s head in the first place, back before he was the Dark Lord.”

Harry rolled onto his side and squinted at Draco. At this distance without his glasses he could only see a blue and blond smudge.

“They campaigned for the value of blood purity, and he in turn rose to power on a promise of promoting blood purity,” Draco said. “They fed each other the same lie, back and forth, and more and more people believed it.” The blue and blond smudge sat back in his chair. “I grew up with it. I never had to be convinced, it was just the way things were. I grew up being told I was special because my lineage was pure. That was my value as a person. I never doubted that it made me special.”

“I grew up being told I was worthless,” Harry murmured. “Which might be why I never believed it when people told me I was special.”

“That’s because you’re daft,” Draco said. “I think a part of me knew blood wasn’t enough,” his voice was distant and detached. “But it was all I had. Blood and money.” He laughed bitterly, “When he marked me I thought it meant I had finally accomplished something. We were all purebloods. Or most of us, really. But to be marked, that meant you were special amongst the special. I thought it meant something.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He propped himself up on his elbow and slipped his glasses back onto his face. Draco was bent over now, thoughtfully tracing his fingers over his Dark Mark.

“I’m back in school,” Draco said suddenly. “I started last autumn. Did I tell you that?”

“No,” Harry said.

“Studying law. I’ll become a barrister or solicitor, perhaps. Maybe I'll have a chance to argue before the Wizengamot someday,” Draco nodded to himself. “Ironic, isn’t it? Law is the study of the difference between right and wrong. I’m probably the last person who should be trusted with that judgement.”

“Or maybe you’ll understand it better than most,” Harry said. Draco looked up finally and regarded Harry silently. “Do you want to lie down?” Harry asked suddenly, without thinking it through. 

Draco blinked and looked down at his hands, then stood and crossed to the other side of the bed. He stretched out on the mattress next to Harry and they laid side by side without touching. They both laid on their backs and looked up at the ceiling, their hands folded across their abdomens.

“Good thing this bed is too large for one person,” Harry said with a smirk. Draco snorted once and closed his eyes. A moment later Harry did, too, and then they both slept.

Supper turned out to be an adventure of its own kind. They decided as a group to try an array of the various items they had purchased at the grocery store. Harry put some effort into arranging the mostly junk food artfully on various trays and platters, and set them all out along the dining table like a smorgasbord. The Malfoys and Gliese walked along the table with their plates, sampling this and that and assembling strange meals of crisps and cocktail sausages and breakfast cereals and salad croutons. When Harry tried to excuse himself they insisted that he stay on, if for no other reason than to explain the various items they tried.

Because the dining table was covered in odd foods they adjourned to the drawing room to eat. Harry turned on the telly and explained that eating supper in front of a programme was a very common muggle activity, which pleased Gliese to no end.

Harry sat on the fainting couch near the wall as Lucius, Narcissa and their Auntie settled on the sofa directly in front of the set. Draco sat in a straight-backed chair near the fireplace.

“Are you boys going out again tonight?” Gliese asked during an advert.

“Maybe,” Draco looked across the room at Harry.

“If you want to we can,” Harry’s heart beat a little faster. The idea made him nervous. His head had been in all the wrong places all day. A bit of drink and he might do something he regretted.

“I want to,” Draco said decisively.

Harry collected everyone’s plates and opened the liquor cabinet for their perusal. He thumped down the stairs a little more casually than he should have, and then swept all of the dishes into the dumbwaiter. Down in the kitchen he set the cleaning charms off and running, and when he was certain everything was heading in the right direction he went back upstairs to change.

Draco was already dressed in a black fitted shirt with nicely tailored trousers. His hair was neatly styled and he was waiting in the hall for Harry’s arrival. He popped his head into the parlor and bid the elder members of his party goodnight, which they returned with a distracted murmur.

“Let’s go,” Draco led the way out of the house.

“Where to?” Harry asked as they rounded the corner to the nearby alleyway.

“I want to try that pub where you knew the doorman,” Draco said.

“No,” Harry’s heart thumped painfully.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s Friday and it will be jam packed and it’s a different sort of crowd you won’t be into,” Harry rattled off reasons.

“How do you know what kind of crowd I’ll enjoy?” Draco said stubbornly. “I remember where we went last night. I can Apparate without you, you know.”

“You really won’t like it,” Harry said desperately. He knew it was pointless, his former rival had made up his mind. He held his arm out in defeat and with a stiff pop they Apparated into the alley in the club district.

“The Magic Hat,” Draco read the sign as they approached. “Tell me that isn’t why you come here.”

“It’s not why I come here,” Harry said miserably. His chest ached and his legs felt like stone. His secret was about to be completely blown apart. And unless Draco was a particularly open minded sort, it would likely put an end to their burgeoning friendship.

Steve was at the door, as he usually was, and he hugged Harry with one burly arm. He greeted Draco by name, too. He always had a good memory for faces.

“How are you tonight?” Steve asked with another friendly shoulder squeeze. The line of men at the door peered jealously at Harry and Draco, who had been guided past the velvet rope without hesitation. “Colin is in.”

“Fine, thanks,” Harry ducked his head and ignored his second comment.

“Oh come on, you’re going to let those two poofters in?” a mincing boy halfway down the line called.

“Poofters?” Draco snorted.

“Come on,” Harry sighed and knew it was time to get on with the inevitable.

They pushed through the crowd near the entrance and Harry led Draco to the bar. It took some jostling but they finally managed to squeeze through to the counter. Harry saw Colin working down at the other end and knew it was a matter of seconds before the lid was blown off. Surely Draco had noticed that there were virtually no women around. It had to be obvious, even in the low lighting. If he took even one look at the dance floor he would see boys paired up and dancing to the pounding beats. It was pretty hard to miss, and Draco didn’t seem all that oblivious.

“Harry!” Colin caught sight of him and approached with arms outstretched.

Here it comes.

“How are you, love?” Colin eyed Draco coolly, and then leaned across the bar and kissed Harry straight on the lips.

It was so much worse than he had expected.

“I’m fine,” Harry had to hold the edge of the bar to keep from collapsing. His head was swimming and his legs felt weak. Draco eyed him curiously. There was surely no doubt in his head now.

“Who’s your friend?” Colin asked with false brightness. “You and your blonds.” Draco cocked his head with a smirk and looked at Harry as though interested in how he would respond.

“This is Draco,” Harry said. “Draco, this is Colin. My...” he paused, knowing he couldn’t call Colin an ex, because they had never been exclusive in the first place. “My friend.”

“Nice to meet you, Draco,” Colin shook his hand strongly. Harry noticed that he had tensed up his muscular biceps and flexed a little. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it to come on to Draco, or if he was a little jealous of what he thought was competition. As Colin eyed Draco challengingly he realized it was the latter. Well well. Mister I-want-to-be-free felt threatened by Draco Malfoy.

As maybe he should be. Wait, no.

“Can we get a pint, Colin?” Harry raised his voice to get his attention. Colin was locked in a staring contest with the Slytherin boy, and Draco seemed even less inclined than Colin to back down. He had put on his best haughty sneer, the one that refused to be intimidated, the one that knew no one was better than him. He had definitely picked up on Colin’s insecurity.

“Sure,” Colin tore his eyes away and pulled two pints. Harry paid up, suddenly not in the mood to run a tab on his former lover’s good graces.

“Cheers,” Draco nodded, one eyebrow raised with the condescendingly refined air of the upper class. Harry hadn’t seen this side of him since school and he was happy not to be on the receiving end.

Harry pointed to a free table away from the speaker stacks and they sat with their beers. Harry had nothing to say, because there was nothing to say. Draco had dropped the arrogant sneer and was now simply looking around at the crowd.

“Come here often?” he asked in a neutral tone.

“Yes,” Harry saw no reason to lie anymore.

“I didn’t know you were queer, Potter,” Draco went straight to the point.

“It’s not really your business, is it?”

“Things might have been different if I’d known,” Draco said, draining his glass.

“I know,” Harry grimaced at the thought of public humiliation. He spun his empty glass between his fingers.

“That’s not what I mean,” Draco read his expression. Suddenly he stood and nodded toward the dance floor. “Come on.”

Harry followed self-consciously. Draco had been toying with him all day. Now he wanted to dance at a gay club for a laugh. He wished he had never brought him to this neighborhood, that he had guarded his secret better.

The drums throbbed sensuously as a low grinding bass rumbled everything in its path. The dance floor was crowded, but not so much that people couldn’t pair up. Draco paired up with Harry and moved to the rhythm. Harry was embarrassed but he moved a bit, too. Draco smiled and danced a bit closer, his arms raised and his hips swaying. Harry averted his eyes. He had never danced just to dance. He had always used it as a prelude to a hookup. Which meant he had developed an automatic response to dancing that made him anticipate sex. Which, considering his partner, was not a great thing right at the moment.

Draco stepped closer, until his hips were touching Harry’s. He swayed and grinned devilishly, then dropped a hand around Harry’s neck. Harry’s heart pounded furiously. He was having a hard time keeping it together, keeping his expression neutral. He wanted to press up against his former classmate, to stroke his arms and tell him that he didn’t care about his Dark Mark or any of that past rubbish. He wanted to grab him up in his arms and do what he would do with anyone who danced like he danced.

Draco pulled him closer until their foreheads touched. Harry was breathing hard, even though he wasn’t dancing much at this point. They were so close again, only this time he couldn’t blame the drink. He’d only had one and his senses were still sharp. He looked up into soft gray eyes and his chest felt like it would split in two.

Draco’s swaying slowed and his hand squeezed the back of Harry’s neck. Harry willed himself not to close his eyes and groan in pleasure. He wished he could because it felt so damn good. Draco slowed and slowed until he wasn’t dancing at all anymore. He was a rock in the midst of a sea of dancers, and Harry clung to him like a drowning man. His ears pounded with his heartbeat, and the music pounded jealously back. Harry’s throat was dry. He couldn’t speak even if the music were quiet enough to permit it.

Draco squeezed his neck again and slid his other arm around Harry’s waist. He pulled Harry close and stroked his thumb down his spine. Harry’s hands moved of their own accord and wrapped around Draco’s hips, too.

And then two things happened at once. First, Harry realized that this wasn’t all just for a laugh, that Draco wasn’t dancing with him to be a pal, he didn’t have his arm wrapped around Harry’s waist for no reason. Second, Draco kissed him.

An electric jolt shot through Harry’s body, and he physically jumped at the sensation of Draco’s lips on his. Draco withdrew slightly and regarded him with a curious smile. Then he dipped his head again and swept Harry’s mouth up in another kiss.

Oh sweet Merlin, yes.

He was peripherally aware of the swarm of dancing bodies that buzzed around them. Draco stroked Harry’s back and ran his fingers through Harry’s hair and kissed him deeply with lovely, languid lips and tongue. Harry kissed him back, his body wishing it could race away to the climax. But the other boy kept him reined in, sensuously touching him and savoring the sensation..

“Get a room,” someone shouted from the throng of dancers. Draco smiled, his lips still pressed against Harry’s. Harry couldn’t help it, he smiled, too. He walked backwards, drawing Draco with him to the edge of the dance floor. They found an unoccupied booth in the corner and slid onto the seat. And as soon as they were seated Draco drew Harry in again.

They kissed on and on, and Harry swore at least three songs played before they came up for air. And then they kissed again, unable to get enough to justify stopping. Draco slipped his hand underneath Harry’s shirt and drew his fingertips across Harry’s bare skin. He kissed down Harry’s jaw to his neck and buried his face in his collarbone, licking and tasting along the way. Harry clung to Draco, his mind a jumble of half-thoughts and unfinished notions. Draco worked his way back up to Harry’s mouth and explored with his tongue, then finally withdrew with a series of smaller and smaller kisses, until their lips were just barely touching.

“I wish I’d known,” Draco said into Harry’s ear.

“Me too,” Harry closed his eyes as Draco’s breath sent a wave of goosebumps up his arms.

They sat back in the booth and Draco comfortably draped one arm around Harry’s shoulder. They rested their heads together and Harry thought about how previous encounters at The Magic Hat had all led him to the toilet cubicle for a quick blowie or a furtive shag. He didn’t much feel like visiting the bog this time. Except he kind of did, but only because he actually needed to use it.

“Going for a slash,” Harry said into Draco’s ear. “Be back in a jif.”

He hurried to the back and hoped he would be able to find a free urinal. He made quick work of it and headed back to the table. Draco was still there, of course he would be but Harry thought it was notable anyway, and he grinned cheekily as Harry approached.

“Harry,” Colin appeared at his elbow, a towel tossed casually over his shoulder. “Can we talk for a minute?”

“It’s not really a good time,” Harry said apologetically. Draco was too far away to overhear their exchange over the music but his body language said they had his full attention.

“Just for a minute,” Colin grasped his arm firmly as though he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Harry took a step back but his hand remained locked on his arm. “I just want to talk to you,” he said.

“Problem?” Draco was at their side so quickly that Harry suspected he had Apparated to close the distance.

“No problem, mate,” Colin released Harry’s arm. “I just need to speak with my boyfriend for a minute.”

“Since when are you my bloody boyfriend?” Harry was suddenly angry.

“Since we started fucking four months ago,” Colin said sharply.

“Whatever happened to keeping things open, playing it by ear?” Harry snapped. He wished they weren’t doing this near the speaker stacks, where they had to shout to hear each other. “You didn’t want to be my boyfriend. Not until now, not until you saw me with someone else.”

“Maybe it’s time to go,” Draco had put on his best sneer again. He regarded Colin like a trivial interruption, something to be dismissed. No one could make a person feel infinitesimally small like Draco Malfoy.

“Maybe so,” Harry was saddened by this turn of events. Colin had jerked him around for ages, made him feel miserable about wanting to get closer. And now he was acting like it hadn’t happened that way at all. He wasn’t naive enough to think Colin had had a true change of heart. He suspected that if he were receptive to this ploy, Colin would just impose the open relationship stipulation again. He didn’t want Harry, he wanted to be wanted. He wanted to be fawned over. And Harry, stupidly, had granted him that for months.

“Harry,” Colin cocked his head winningly. He reached out and drew his thumb down Harry’s cheek. Harry leaned away from his touch. “I just want to talk.”

“I don’t have anything to say anymore,” Harry said firmly. He looked to Draco, who continued to fix his unblinking, unnerving, superior glare on Colin. He was glad Draco didn’t have his wand. He shyly took his hand and squeezed it to get his attention. “Let’s go.”

They wove their way through the crowd and left Harry’s former lover behind. Harry bid Steve good night and they set off down the sidewalk. They were still holding hands, and this time Harry knew it wasn’t ironic or dramatic or a laugh. After a block and a half he paused and turned to look at his Slytherin schoolmate.

“He wasn’t my boyfriend,” he said firmly. “But we were together for a while.”

“How recently?” Draco drew Harry close and put his arms around his waist.

“It’s been a few weeks since we did anything,” Harry felt compelled to be fully honest. “But I asked him out again pretty recently.”

“How recently?” Draco asked again, raising a hand and gently brushing Harry’s hair back from his forehead.

“Yesterday,” Harry said guiltily. “It was an accident. Force of habit. Nothing happened.”

“Are you going to ask him out again?” Draco asked, still holding him close.

“No,” Harry shook his head decisively.

“All right then,” Draco shrugged. He leaned in and kissed Harry tenderly.

They kissed again, and then again and again. Harry didn’t care about passing cars or the way they were fully visible in the glare of the street light. He didn’t care about anything but the way he felt at that moment. Draco pulled away and smiled gently with sparkling eyes.

“Alright, mate?” he asked with an amused smile.

“Yeah,” Harry pulled him in again. “Alright.”


	9. Chapter 9

They kissed in the alley just down from Grimmauld Place, desire playing havoc with their ability to walk. They were no longer slow, not sensual, not gentle, not tender. They were ravaged with lust, with a need that compounded with every passing second. Harry gripped Draco's hair roughly and considered ripping open his trousers and going down on him right there in the narrow passage.

Draco seemed just as desperate. He pawed at Harry hungrily, his hands grasping his buttocks and holding him so tightly that Harry thought they might split free of their clothes. He whimpered as Harry reached under his shirt and grazed his fingertips across his nipple.

"Come on," Draco suddenly seized his hand and dragged him to the sidewalk. He marched determinedly towards the house and hauled Harry up the steps. Harry pressed up against him as he fumbled with the knob and they both spilled eagerly into the foyer.

"Draco," Lucius snapped, halfway down the stairs from the first floor.

Draco jumped to attention and wiped the grin off of his face. "Father," he said in surprise. "You're still up?"

"I was looking for the kitchen for a glass of water," Lucius said distastefully. "Dreadfully thirsty from that absurd muggle feast."

"I can bring you some water, sir," Harry said quickly. The sight of the elder Malfoy had shriveled his libido and he was certain Draco had experienced the same effect. Draco turned to follow Harry down the hall to the back stairs.

"And where are you going?" Lucius demanded. "Shouldn't you be turning in?"

"Right," Draco said guiltily and turned back towards him. He slouched reluctantly up the stairs to his room.

Harry swallowed a sigh and headed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. Lucius was waiting for him in the hall outside of the dining room when he returned.

"Muggle foods are saltier than what you're probably used to," Harry said as Lucius knocked the water back.

"Indeed," Lucius deposited the glass back into Harry's hand with a regal air. "Mister Potter," he said after a moment's hesitation, "I want to thank you for bringing my son home in proper form. I had some concerns that you would permit him to bring a lady of poor standing back with him," he tilted his head meaningfully. "He does not always make the best choices when he is intoxicated."

"I took good care of him, sir," Harry reassured him, hoping the dim lighting was enough to conceal the flush that he could feel creeping up his neck.

"You have been an excellent host," Lucius added with the cool detachment of someone who doesn't want to appear too effusive. He took a breath and paused, as though he wasn't sure whether to say what was on his mind. Finally he smiled politely and said, "If they were alive, your parents would be quite proud, I'm sure." He flicked his eyes towards the stairs, "As a father myself I feel I can assure you of that."

"Thank you, sir," Harry was nearly speechless. Lucius turned on his heel and strode up the stairs without another word.

Harry returned the empty glass to the kitchen and turned off the lights around the house as he made his way back upstairs. As he topped the second floor landing Draco's door swung open and a pale hand darted out to snatch him by the wrist.

"Get over here," Draco growled and pulled him in roughly. He kissed Harry ravenously and urgently stroked his back.

The handle on Lucius and Narcissa's room rattled, sending them to opposite sides of the hall. Lucius poked his head out and glared disapprovingly at his son.

"It is time for sleep, Draco," he said sternly. "I will not wait around all morning tomorrow while you sleep off a late night."

"Yes, Father," Draco's shoulders sagged and he shot Harry a regretful look as he retreated into his room and closed the door. Harry bid the elder Malfoy goodnight and mounted the two flights to his own room.

Draco was right, his bed was too big for one person.

He awoke with his alarm clock and fumbled through his morning routine before heading down to start breakfast. He was tired, but privately he wished he were more tired, because that would mean he had stayed up late shagging. Instead he'd had to make do with a wank, which simply didn't compare.

He was just laying the bacon in the pan when he heard bare feet thud down the stairs. A moment later two strong bare arms slipped around him from behind and Draco nuzzled the space behind his left ear. Harry sighed and melted into his embrace, reassured that last night had not been a dream.

Draco gently turned him by the hips until they were face to face. His cheek still bore pillowcase marks and his hair was a wild, rumpled mess. But he smiled and the skin around his eyes crinkled endearingly when he did. Harry smiled back, still holding the spatula in his hand.

Draco leaned in and kissed Harry tenderly, nothing urgent, more like he was reassuring himself that he could. He withdrew and pulled Harry into a hug, and Harry could feel his nose in his hair, inhaling his scent. Draco moved his mouth down to his ear and his lips parted ever so slightly.

"Coffee," he whispered sensually.

Harry laughed and pushed him away, pointing with the spatula to the pantry. Draco retrieved the grounds and nodded with approval when he noted that the kettle was already on the stove and nearing a boil.

Per the previous two days' routine he manned the dumbwaiter controls and waited patiently in the kitchen while Harry served the rest of the guests. When Harry returned he was frying eggs again while humming and swaying a bit.

It was Harry's turn to press up behind him and wrap his arms around his chest. Draco pressed his hips back and swayed against Harry's groin, awakening the interrupted libido from the night before. He paused when he felt Harry's prick harden up against his arse, then spun around and swept Harry back to the oversized table in one smooth movement. He leaned Harry back onto the time-worn wood and laid on top of him. He was just as hard as Harry was.

Draco ran his hand up between Harry's legs, stroking his bollocks and cock through his jeans. Harry bit his lip to suppress a moan. It wouldn't do to have the diners just above their heads overhear. He responded in kind by running his fingers over Draco's satiny pyjama bottoms, eliciting a grateful shudder from the other boy.

Harry wanted to fuck, right there on the table. He was famished for it, and he was certain that fucking Draco fucking Malfoy would be fucking amazing.

But the eggs were burning.

"Draco," he said urgently as the scorched smell reached his nose.

"Bollocks," Draco released him and lunged for the pan. He caught it before it started to smoke, but the underside of the eggs were far too dark to be palatable. He chucked them into the bin and cracked four more into the pan. He shook the spatula disapprovingly at Harry.

"No more distracting me," he said.

"Me?" Harry squeaked.

"Yes," Draco said, pointing the spatula at his groin, "with that."

"Well I sort of can't help that," Harry laughed. "It's sort of obsessed with you right now."

"Patience," Draco said as he folded the whites in the pan.

They ate their breakfast with their feet intertwined beneath the table. Every nerve ending in Harry's body had become a compass and Draco was due north. He was nearly sick with desire for his blond schoolmate--

Wait a minute, was he the reason Harry preferred blonds?

Anyway, Harry could think of nothing without the thought of shagging Draco Malfoy on its heels. He helped his guests pick out appropriate outfits for the football game later and he thought about shagging Draco Malfoy. He shared a bit about what to expect at the match and he thought about shagging Draco Malfoy. They hailed a taxi and he thought about shagging Draco Malfoy.

The game didn't start until two o'clock so Harry decided to show them something to remember. He had the taxi drop them near an entrance to the Underground and led them down so they could experience the Tube. He had started them slowly on their first day, now it was time for them to really get a full-scale experience.

Narcissa shrieked delicately when the train roared into the station and Lucius wrapped his arm around her protectively. Gliese clung to Draco's arm with a mixture of fear and delight on her face. Draco kept his expression carefully composed but Harry could tell he was impressed. He hustled them on board and showed them where to hold on. Narcissa buried her face in Lucius’ chest as the train fired down the track. Harry and Draco braced Gliese on both sides to make sure the swaying motion wouldn't knock her off balance.

The closer they got to their destination the more crowded the train became. Finally they were all pressed together near the door, a terrified knot of wizards amongst experienced muggles. Harry felt Draco grasp his hand beneath the crowd and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

When they reached their stop Harry shoved his guests out of the train without ceremony. "Piccadilly Station, everyone," he called over the rabble of crowd noise. It was Saturday morning so the place was already mobbed with tourists. But the way Harry saw it,, there was no better time to experience. They wanted a full immersion into the muggle world, and here it was.

He wondered if Dean would take guests to Piccadilly Circus on a Saturday. Probably not. And if Harry had really thought it through he might have chosen otherwise. But he hadn't. That's not how he did things.

They rode up the escalator to street level, first Lucius, then Narcissa, then Gliese, then Harry, then Draco. Draco slipped their hands together again, safe from view. Harry knew they had nothing to worry about among the muggles, but clearly Draco’s family might have a poor opinion of their proximity.

Harry had to physically maneuver his guests out of the flow of traffic as they emerged at street level. Everywhere they looked they were bombarded by signs, not as garish during the day as at night, but still shocking enough to the eyes of wizards who wore somber colors and lit their homes by firelight.

They walked the line of storefronts, stopped into Boots so Gliese could finally see what a chemist's shop looked like, and dodged fellow tourists. Every time Harry and Draco lagged behind the others Draco scooped Harry's hand up in his. Once or twice he used an obstructed view as an opportunity to sneak a kiss. Harry's heart was overflowing with happiness.

They had lunch at a loud chain restaurant and then departed for the football match. Dean had purchased tickets in advance so they were able to enter straight away. It was West Ham versus Arsenal, so Harry warned his guests that it might get a bit rowdy.

He explained the rules as best he could but his guests were so ingrained with Quidditch that they kept getting confused. Draco was of the opinion that remaining grounded robbed the game of action and seemed a bit bored by the plays. Gliese watched the surrounding crowd closely and cheered when they cheered. Lucius and Narcissa sat straight and still as though they were attending a lecture, clearly not engaged.

Draco slipped his hand over Harry's whenever he felt he could keep it hidden. During a particularly boisterous outbreak of cheering he even leaned over and kissed Harry near his ear. Harry was a little more nervous here, where aggressions boiled over and tensions ran high.

In fact, tensions were already running high. He saw a few scuffles break out and security was starting to appear near the exits. Harry decided it was time to cut their losses and leave early. He leaned across Gliese and explained that they should go and the elder Malfoys stood up immediately, their relief palpable.

They slowly made their way through the rowdy throng to the exit. Unfortunately Harry chose poorly and they came out in the middle of a cluster of hooligans in Arsenal gear who were already starting to shove and cause trouble. And unfortunately Gliese had purchased a West Ham shirt and the team colors caught the rabble rousers' eyes. And unfortunately they didn't care one bit that they clearly weren't a group of people who were looking for a fight.

"You!" One of the tough guys shouted, pointing directly at Draco. "What are you looking at?"

"Who are these tossers?" Draco asked Harry with his classic superior sneer.

"Just keep walking," Harry hustled his guests along. He tried to keep his head down and not raise the ire of the growing crowd of angry men. He pushed Draco towards Gliese and pointed down the street. “Get them out of here.”

Draco furrowed his brow but did as he was told, moving his Auntie and parents away from the crowd. Harry hung back and kept an eye out to ensure his guests weren’t harassed or intimidated. He was shoved a few times, pushed around in the jostle of bodies as a few of the men made feints at each other. When he felt the Malfoys were far enough ahead, he finally turned to follow them out.

He was so concerned about getting his party away from the crowd that he didn't hear the feet running up behind him until they were right on top of him. And then everything went slow motion. Up ahead he saw Draco turn. He saw Draco's mouth open to shout. He turned and saw an Arsenal thug coming at him with fist raised.

Bollocks.

He couldn't quite make out what the man was shouting, but he did hear, "specky cunt," and then there was a flash of brightness and everything tilted. He heard Narcissa scream. He heard Draco shout, "Get them out of here!" And then there was a pop, darkness, a squeeze, and daylight again. Everything was blurry and his left temple was sending urgent painful messages to his brain, telling him something was wrong. A blond blur appeared above him and he felt strong arms lift him to his feet.

"Come on, mate," Draco's voice said in his ear. "Lets get you inside."

"I'm sorry," Harry said as Draco walked him up the stairs to the door. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," Draco shouldered the door open and sat him on the bench in the entryway.

"Found them," a blond blur with Lucius' voice said from the stairs. He descended with two other blurs, who rushed to Harry's side.

"His glasses," Gliese's voice said.

"I'll go," Draco's voice said, and then there was the familiar pop of Disapperation.

"No!" Harry struggled to stand, but the Malfoys held him down. "He can't go back, you have to go get him."

"He has his wand, he can handle himself," Lucius said, sounding very much like the man Harry had fought during the war. "Hold still, your glasses cut your face." Harry touched his temple and felt a warm sticky wetness.

Lucius extended a blurry arm that Harry suspected held a wand. He murmured a repetitive incantation in a lilting cadence. Harry felt the pain in his head lessen, then evaporate completely.

"Come, dear," Gliese tugged him to his feet. "Lets get you washed up." She led him up the stairs and down the hall to the guest washroom. He sat on the edge of the tub and allowed her to scrub the blood from his forehead and cheek.

"He's not back yet," Harry said helplessly. He needed his glasses. He could Disapparate back to the stadium to get him, but he couldn't see where he was going.

"He'll be back," Gliese said gently. She led him to the drawing room and sat him on the sofa while Narcissa pressed a glass of scotch into his hand.

"It shouldn't take this long," Harry said urgently, hoping one of them would offer to go find him.

Just at that moment they heard the pop of an Apparation down in the foyer and feet on the stairs.

"Found them," the blur that was Draco said grimly. "They're pretty smashed."

"Oculus Reparo," Gliese said lightly and then pressed the frames into Harry's hands.

He hurriedly slipped them onto his face and whirled to look at Draco. The Slytherin boy was in one piece, but his hair was a mess and the collar of his shirt was ripped.

"There were a lot of people fighting," he said mildly, his tone at odds with the intense look in his eye as he searched Harry for signs of injury. "Are you all fixed up?"

"Yes," Harry said belatedly. He turned to Lucius and placed his hand over his heart. "Thank you, sir. My deepest apologies for not keeping your family safe."

"Nonsense," Lucius raised his eyebrow. "You were trying to get us out."

"It wasn't my intention to take you somewhere that could threaten your safety," Harry was wracked with guilt.

“We’ve survived worse,” Lucius said pointedly, giving Harry a look that caused his remaining apologies to wilt on his lips.

“Well at least let me bring you some tea,” Harry said weakly, then darted down the stairs to the kitchen.

He plugged in the electric kettle and assembled biscuits on the tray. He felt something bubbling up inside his chest that he really didn’t want to release. It was an anxiety, perhaps even a panic, an intense reaction to risk that he had developed since the war. It wasn’t that he wasn’t brave anymore, he could be brave if he needed to be. But he was dreadfully terrified of the need to be brave, in a way he had never been before. He felt like a failure. The Malfoys, the fucking Malfoys had saved him today, when it should have been his job to keep them out of trouble. What bloody use was he, the Boy who Lived, if he couldn’t even defend himself against a few muggle football hooligans?

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as the kettle came to a boil. He had learned how to calm the anxiety, and he certainly wanted to be calm before he went back upstairs. He would not show this side of himself to the guests, no matter who they were. But especially not the Malfoys.

He heard the soft padding of stocking feet on the stairs. Draco descended and moved straight into his arms. He held Harry so tightly that he could hardly breathe.

“Don’t do that again,” Draco said roughly.

“Do what?” Harry gasped for air.

“Put our safety above yours,” Draco eased up a little so Harry could get a breath. “We can take care of ourselves.”

“I’m supposed to mind your safety,” Harry protested.

“No you’re not,” Draco said firmly. “You’re supposed to mind our entertainment. Protection is not your job.”

“Did anyone see you Apparate?”

“If they did, they were either too pissed to remember or no one will believe them,” Draco said dismissively.

Harry ran his hands through Draco’s hair to smooth it down, and wondered if he should ask about his ripped collar. But he suspected Draco would tell him to bugger off and keep it to himself. So instead he kissed him gently and stroked his ear with his thumb.

Draco finally released him and walked over to the dumbwaiter. “Come on, then,” he said impatiently, his hand hovering over the button.

“What is with you and that button?” Harry asked.

“It’s the only worthwhile muggle invention I’ve seen so far,” Draco said arrogantly. “It serves its function exactly as it should, and it does it well.” He waited as Harry slid the tray into place and then pressed the indicator for the drawing room two floors up. “This,” he said, “has shown me that perhaps muggles aren’t all bad.”

“The dumbwaiter?” Harry shook his head in wonder. “Really?”

They went back upstairs and served the older guests, then Draco went across the hall to change his shirt. Harry retreated to his bedroom to change his blood spattered clothes and find something appropriate to wear to supper. It occurred to him that it was the last night of the trip, and that by this time tomorrow the Malfoys would be departing. He wasn’t sure what to think about that.


	10. Chapter 10

Once he reminded the guests that it was their last night in town they agreed that they should go somewhere nice for the evening meal. Harry called up the list of restaurant selections Dean had sent to his phone and identified a lovely option that was nearby and had a beautiful view of a public garden. Everyone took a pass through the dressing room to select something worthy of a nice meal. Lucius, Draco and Harry all wore traditional suits with ties, and Narcissa and Gliese selected long summery dresses.

There was no discussion of the football incident, in fact they talked in a circle around the event, only touching on subjects that happened before or after. As the meal wound down Harry asked each of the wizards which part of the trip they had enjoyed the most.

“The London Seer,” Narcissa said.

“The London Eye,” Draco corrected her.

“Parliament,” Lucius said predictably.

“Tesco!” Gliese said with a grin. “I’m going to have some ice cream when we get back.”

“Draco?” Harry asked the boy next to him.

“Well,” Draco looked down at his plate thoughtfully. Beneath the table he slid his hand over Harry’s knee. “All of it.”

“Darling,” Gliese reached across the table and patted his face, blinking back tears. “It fills my heart to know you had a good time. I’m so proud of all of you,” she said, smiling warmly at the senior Malfoys.

After supper they decided to take a stroll through the public garden. Harry and Draco hung back as the elder members of their group walked ahead to inspect the fountain at its center. Draco held Harry’s hand and couldn’t stop looking at him.

“Is this strange?” Harry asked suddenly.

“What, specifically?”

“You and me.”

“Off course it’s strange,” Draco said as though there were no question about it. “You’re Harry fucking Potter, the sodding Boy who Lived. You nearly killed me in the girl’s washroom, for Merlin’s sake. And I broke your bloody nose, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s hardly the worst thing you ever did,” Harry reminded him. “You hate me. How can you like me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

They walked in silence for a moment. They kept an eye on the rest of their group up ahead. Suddenly Draco pushed Harry down a side path and pressed him up against the trunk of a shade tree. He glanced through the branches to make sure they were hidden, then pressed himself against Harry’s body. He kissed him roughly, angrily, his hands suddenly insistent and pressing sharply into Harry’s skin. Harry stiffened, surprised by the sudden turn in his mood.

Draco released him just as suddenly and glared at Harry. “I don’t care about any of that,” he said, his voice unsteady. “I don’t care.”

“I don’t care either,” Harry said firmly. He reached up and caressed Draco’s neck. “Let’s just forget it all, okay? Can we do that?”

Draco smiled sadly, “I don’t think we can forget it,” he said, his voice softening.

“Then can we start again?” Harry asked.

Draco leaned to the side and checked the position of his family again. He looked thoughtfully at Harry sighed. Then he straightened his shoulders and thrust his hand out, “Hi,” he said. “Draco Malfoy.”

Harry grinned and shook his hand, “Harry Potter, nice to meet you.”

“Potter, eh?” Draco raised one eyebrow pompously. “I have a feeling we’re going to get along famously.”

They both laughed and Harry tugged Draco in for another kiss. He was desperate for more, but until they could arrange some time alone snogging whenever possible would have to suffice. Even at that moment Draco’s mother was calling for him, inviting him to sit by the fountain with the family. He rolled his eyes tolerantly and released Harry from his grip and went to join his parents.

It was well past dark by the time they arrived back at twelve Grimmauld Place. They watched a bit of telly, Harry served brandy all around, and eventually everyone decided to turn in. Lucius declared no outings, and stubbornly insisted that Draco turn in like the rest of them. Once again Harry settled the house for the night and ascended to the fourth floor by himself. It was the last night of the trip, and it was ending not with a bang but a whimper.

It was well past midnight when Harry awoke to the sound of feet padding down the hall. He wasn’t sure why he had awoken to such a small noise, but one minute he was asleep and the next he was looking at the ceiling, listening to the sound of feet. His heartbeat quickened as the sound drew near. The door handle turned slowly and as Harry slipped his glasses onto his face the door swung open, just enough for a slim body to squeeze through. Harry pushed himself up on his elbows and watched as Draco raised a finger to his lips and quietly closed the door behind him.

The blond boy darted lightly across the room and slipped under the covers, immediately rolling on top of Harry and pressing him into the mattress.

“What time--” Harry’s question was cut off as Draco dove in for a deep kiss, his tongue exploring Harry’s mouth eagerly.

His cock immediately responded. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and kissed him back as his knob pushed insistently against Draco’s satiny pyjama bottoms. Draco reached down and swept the trousers off, then yanked Harry’s underpants off and tossed them onto the floor.

Sweet mother of Merlin.

Harry’s head swam as he realized they were both naked, naked in his bed, naked and hard in his bed. He spread his knees apart and let Draco drop neatly into the space between them. He angled his hips invitingly and guided Draco’s hand down. Draco kissed him eagerly and obediently stroked Harry’s bollocks, then worked his way down to his entrance. He traced his fingers around Harry’s arse, and then gently slipped one inside.

Fireworks went off in Harry’s brain, as much an effect of his excitement as the sensation. Oh Merlin, it was really about to happen. He swallowed a moan of pleasure as Draco gently stroked his prostate and rubbed their cocks together. A second finger made its arrival known and Harry gasped as the sensation shot straight up his spine. Draco leaned back and looked into Harry’s eyes with concern, but Harry nodded encouragingly and pulled him back down to his mouth. Draco slipped in a third finger and worked gently as Harry’s muscles relaxed and permitted the intrusion.

He heard Draco whisper two spells, one for protection and the other for lubrication. He nodded eagerly again and Draco pushed forward, entering smoothly. Harry grunted, then bit his lip to suppress the noise. Draco exhaled and butted his forehead against Harry’s, his expression exquisite in the moonlight. His eyelids fluttered and opened and he smiled beatifically down at Harry. He raised a hand to Harry’s face as though to remove his glasses, but Harry grasped his wrist to stop him.

“I want to see you,” Harry whispered, his breath catching in his throat as Draco pushed into him.

Draco leaned down and kissed him. “Okay,” he whispered, then started to move a bit more. He reached between them and grasped Harry’s cock as he pushed, his other arm bracing Harry’s raised knee. Harry reached up and raked his fingers through Draco’s hair, completely enthralled by the radiant boy inside of him.

Their breathing became ragged as Draco pushed deeper, thrust quicker now. Harry pressed his hand over his mouth to muffle a moan as the other boy stroked and pushed and brought him to the brink of climax. Draco’s forelock swung over his eyes in rhythm as their bodies moved together, their thighs slick with the sweat of exertion. Harry pulled Draco down for another kiss and held his lower lip between his teeth before releasing him.

He could feel the crest curling up from deep inside his groin and then suddenly it peaked with the manic flush of orgasm. He gasped and dug his fingers into Draco’s back as the storm broke over him and roared through his body, sending lightning shocks from his spine to his fingertips and toes. Draco’s back arched suddenly as he came like a whipcrack, his hips pumping urgently as he convulsed. His mouth was agape and his breath hung in the air for a long second, and just as suddenly released, leaving him gasping and clinging to Harry for support.

He slowly withdrew and collapsed onto the mattress next to Harry, his arm slung over the edge of the bed and his chest heaving. They pawed limply at each other, desiring contact but totally drained. Harry had never experienced anything quite like that before. He’d had sex, but never like that. He hadn’t even imagined anything like that. If he had been a cartoon, there would have been stars and twittering birds zooming around his head.

Very mature, he thought.

Draco’s eyelids were fluttering again, this time from the overwhelming urge to sleep. Harry checked his clock to make sure they would rise before the other guests, to make sure Draco could escape down the stairs before anyone was the wiser. Once assured, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, too.

The alarm went off at exactly six thirty, sending Draco flying out of the bed in a panic. Harry fumbled to silence the beeping as the other boy struggled between fight and flight, half crouched in the middle if the room, naked with wild eyes.

"Its okay," Harry held his hand up reassuringly. "It's just the clock."

Draco's chest was heaving as he finally focused on Harry and heard his words. He straightened up slowly and glanced past him at the glowing digital clock face. He scowled angrily and pointed. "In-fucking-elegant, Potter!"

They showered quickly, together, commending each other between thrusts for saving time and water. Harry had never showered with anyone before. He quickly decided it would go right to the top of his list of favorite things. He dressed as Draco crept downstairs to his room, managing to make it before any of his family awoke. They reconvened in the kitchen and christened the oversized table while the kettle came to a boil. After they finished eating and the cleaning spells were set in motion, Draco pushed Harry up against the pantry door and unbuttoned his trousers again.

"Every step you take today," he said as he sank gracefully to his knees, "I want to remind you that Draco Malfoy was here."

Harry didn't have the heart to tell him that that would have happened even without the blowie. Because who's going to turn down a blowie?

They were both keenly aware that it was the last day of the trip. They neatly avoided talking about it, because talking about it would mean staring into the great void of the future and trying to figure out how their very different lives could stitch together. Harry spent much of his time in London with holiday travelers, and Draco had his second year of law school ahead of him. Not particularly compatible.

But when they rejoined the other members of their party the subject had to come up. Harry had to ask them what their preferences were for the day. It meant asking the question he didn't want to ask.

"The house is at your disposal for the day," Harry said. "You may either check out right away if you've had it up to your eyeballs with muggles and me," he smiled, "or we can do a bit more sightseeing and check out later." Inside his heart was pounding. If they said they wanted to check out now, that would be it. They would leave and Draco would be obligated to go with them and they hadn't talked at all about what was next.

"Cissy," Gliese said thoughtfully, "you never got to see the art museum."

"We could do that," Narcissa nodded brightly. "And then after lunch we could check out and be home before supper." Lucius sighed laboriously, but nodded in concession.

Spared the immediate departure, Harry herded them down the stairs with a rush of relief. They taxied over to the National Gallery on Trafalgar Square, and Harry was pleased with their appropriately awed reaction to the beautiful monuments and architecture. He reminded himself to prioritize this stop before Tesco and B&Q next time. For Merlin’s sake, they’d almost missed out.

Once inside they shuffled together past a number of paintings before Lucius finally halted in frustration. “I will not have you rushing your mother along,” he said sternly. “Stop nipping at our heels every time she stops.”

“Do you have a pocket watch?” Harry asked. “We could meet back here in an hour if that would be more enjoyable for you.”

“Excellent idea,” Lucius said tersely and glowered at his son. “Go make yourselves busy elsewhere.”

Draco and Harry didn’t have to be told twice. They excused themselves and darted off to find some privacy. Unfortunately the popularity of the venue made privacy difficult to find, so they had to make due with holding hands and talking quietly, rather than the quick, secret backroom shag they’d both envisioned.

They made their way to the Sainsbury Wing, purely for the distance it put between themselves and the rest of their party. They passed through each room, eyeballing the old paintings with the mildest of interest. Harry noticed that Draco was becoming quieter and more withdrawn with every passing room. Finally he stopped in front of a painting of Saint Jerome and tugged Draco’s hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Draco lied poorly, which he didn’t usually do.

“Talk to me,” Harry sat on a bench and drew Draco down next to him.

Draco sat and avoided his eyes. He looked around at the artwork and frowned disapprovingly. “These muggles were obsessed with religion,” he said disapprovingly. Harry didn’t respond to the deflection. Finally Draco sighed and looked down at their hands. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he said.

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach with an artless thud. No good conversation ever started this way.

“School starts up next week,” Draco said slowly. “and I’ve arranged to participate in a program that focuses on Continental wizarding law. Which means I’m leaving for Paris in a few days.”

“Okay,’ Harry waited for the other shoe to drop.

“It’s a month in Paris, a month in Madrid and a month and a half in Munich,” Draco added. He swallowed hard, “It’s too far to Apparate so I won’t be home until December.”

“Oh,” Harry didn’t know what to say.

“It’s a long time,” Draco continued. “It’s almost four full months I’ll be away. I’ll be back by Christmas, but,” he faltered, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to wait for me.”

“Oh,” Harry suddenly understood. The bitter taste of bile rose in his throat. “I get it.”

“I’m not saying I don’t want to be with you,” Draco tried to make eye contact with him, but Harry couldn’t look up.

“No, I get it,” Harry struggled to keep his voice even. “Nothing wrong with a bit of a holiday fling.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Draco clutched his hands tighter.

“It’s okay, really,” Harry pulled his fingers free and stood. “We’re only nineteen, there’s no reason to be tied down now, anyway.” He felt a fluttering panic building in his chest. He backed away from Draco, unable to look at him. “Your Auntie Gliese was right, I should charge more for my services,” he laughed, on the verge of hysteria.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice was hurt.

“Besides, you helped me out with the whole Colin situation,” Harry added, scratching his head and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “He was so jealous, I’m sure he’ll want to make up now.”

“Harry,” Draco stood, and Harry finally looked at him. His eyes were shadowed, injured.

Harry wished he hadn’t mentioned Colin. The whole thing seemed so sordid and frivolous now, like little more than a hookup. But what was he supposed to do, let Draco fucking Malfoy break his heart? Not bloody likely. He didn’t need Draco fucking Malfoy, that bloody tosser. Draco fucking Malfoy. Who needed him?

He looked up at Draco guiltily and saw the hurt behind his soft gray eyes. But he was the one who said he was leaving for four months, he was the one who said Harry shouldn’t wait on him. He was the one who’d had days to bring it up, and instead crawled into Harry’s bed, knowing Harry was falling for him. Or did he know that? Suddenly Harry felt stupid. Maybe it was his own fault. He assumed they were on the same page. But maybe Harry was just sap, the kind of boy who thought every kiss meant something, unless it was toilet-adjacent.

Oh Merlin, that was exactly it. It was Colin all over again. He’d met a boy, or in this case re-met a boy who just wanted some fun and Harry had taken it for a statement of commitment. While Draco was messing about, Harry was planning their honeymoon. He felt foolish. Why did this keep happening? What was so wrong with him that no one wanted to have a relationship with him? Why was he so disposable?

That last thought was the limit. He turned and dashed from the room, running as fast as he could for the stairs. There were tears burning his eyes and he would be damned if Draco fucking Malfoy would have the pleasure of witnessing him cry. He felt used, he felt dirty, he felt worthless, and there was no way he was going to let Draco fucking Malfoy have the victory this time.

He found an empty room near the education centre and sat in silence, willing the tears back into his eyes. He wouldn’t let one fall, not a single one. He would suck them back in by sheer will if he had to. He took deep, calming breaths, pushing back the anxiety, talking himself back down. He was being silly, he told himself. This whole thing was, what, two days old? Whoever heard of getting worked up to tears over a two-day fling? It was a holiday romance, nothing more and nothing less. It wouldn’t have worked anyway. They were too different.

He hid out in the empty room, fiddling with his mobile until it was time to meet up with the others. He arrived in the main gallery just as Draco entered from the other end of the room. Gliese seemed surprised to see them enter separately, but she said nothing. Draco’s eyes were dark, and he glowered at his feet as though angry at them. Harry put on his customer service face and led the group outside.

They found a nearby restaurant for lunch, and Draco and Harry avoided looking at each other or speaking the whole time. Finally it was over and they piled into their last taxi to return to Grimmauld Place. Harry made the tea while the guests packed. He listened for feet on the stairs but they didn’t come. He loaded the tray into the dumbwaiter and paused before pressing the button, his first chance to do so in five days.

It was moving faster now, tea was poured and drunk, biscuits were nibbled, dishes were swept away. And then it was time to go. Harry passed around the velvet lined box and returned the wands to their owners. He pocketed his own, and then held out the jar of floo powder. Draco didn’t look up as he took his handful.

“P&T Muggle Adventures,” Harry said clearly and tossed his power into the fireplace. It glowed emerald and he stepped through, then Gliese, Narcissa, Lucius and finally Draco followed behind.

Dean was waiting behind the desk as they stepped out into the narrow, crowded office. Harry helped the guests bring their luggage to the front and then settled up with Gliese. She paid the tab for incidentals and Harry knew Dean would call for a celebration later. They had made a lot of money from this trip. It would go a long way towards putting their business on the map. Strange that they should have the Malfoys to thank for that.

Harry walked them to the door and shook each of their hands. Lucius looked down his nose at Harry and nodded with the world’s smallest smile. It wasn’t much, but it said a lot. He had enjoyed himself and seen some value in the muggle world. And perhaps he could let go of his hatred for Harry Potter. It was a lot to interpret from one nod and a small smile, but Harry would stand by his interpretation.

Narcissa hugged him warmly and thanked him for his service. Gliese swept him up in a motherly hug and wept into his hair, thanking him for a tremendous adventure. She planted a kiss on his cheek before turning to leave.

And then there was Draco. Harry extended his hand with a professional demeanor. Not warm, not friendly, but businesslike. Draco’s eyes were still hurt. Harry didn’t know what business he had feeling hurt about it, he was the one breaking it off. Or rather, not breaking it off because that implied a relationship in the first place.

“Thanks,” Draco said, holding Harry’s hand without shaking or letting go.

“Thank you,” Harry said politely.

“Harry,” Draco’s brow furrowed and his eyes reddened.

“It’s fine,” Harry shook his head. He needed to cut this short. If he saw one tear in Draco’s eye his carefully assembled composure would crack and it would be over. “Have fun in Paris.”

“I’ll send an owl,” Draco said softly, still holding his hand.

“If you want to,” Harry shrugged. A massive lump was threatening to close his throat. He needed to get upstairs before anything happened.

Draco pressed his lips together and nodded as though defeated. He darted his hand out and caressed Harry’s cheek with his thumb, and then turned and walked away. For a split second Harry considered calling him back, begging him to stay, begging him to say four months was nothing, to please please wait for him. But he said nothing, and he watched the three blond Malfoys and their aging Auntie retreat down Diagon Alley. And then they were gone, around the corner and out of sight.

“How did it go?” Dean asked when they were finally alone.

“Fine,” Harry choked on the rest of his sentence. He ducked his head and ran up the stairs to his room.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry was drunk. Again. He hunched over his pint and swayed morosely as his friends jostled and chatted around him. It was Friday at the Leaky Cauldron again and Harry was here instead of The Magic Hat, waiting for Colin to finish up with his shift.

“Alright, mate?” Ron asked, elbowing Harry in the side. He knew all about Colin. He didn’t like Colin. Nobody liked Colin, even though they’d never met him.

“Great,” Harry said back, putting on a falsely happy face.

“How’s Colin?” Ginny asked with a frown, exchanging a knowing look with Dean.

“Great,” Harry repeated with the same falsely happy face.

Harry’s sexual preference was known amongst all of his friends now. The last few months had been rough, and Harry had blurted the information out at their first Friday outing after the Malfoys’ trip. Everyone had been fine with it, and in fact Ginny seemed a bit relieved now that she thought back on their brief relationship, but it had made his friends a bit too interested in the goings on of his lovelife. He hadn’t meant to tell them about his on-again-off-again muggle boyfriend, but it had come out just like everything seemed to come out when he was pissed.

In fact, the only information he’d managed to keep to himself was the fact of his brief dalliance with Draco Malfoy, which he’d managed to stuff so far down inside that he hardly thought about it anymore.

Except for all of those times when he did think about it.

Business was going well, particularly since the Daily Prophet finally figured out what Harry Potter was really up to these days. They had run a full spread about his business and suddenly they were booking weeks in advance for London trips. He and Dean had gotten into a good schedule of alternating trips, no matter what kind or how many days. Harry felt better because it meant Dean had taken some hard ones and Harry no longer felt he was cherry-picking the best trips for himself. But every time he set out on a trip and arrived at Grimmauld Place, every time he got up early to make breakfast, every time he used that sodding dumbwaiter, he thought of Draco.

The house was practically haunted by his memories of those five days. Five measly days and he could barely face the house without sharp pangs in his chest. It had been better recently, but now that it was approaching Christmas he was thinking about him again. Because the semester would be ending soon and he would be back home. And then what? And then nothing, he thought.

His friends had caught his change in mood. They’d noticed he’d withdrawn, that his temper was a bit shorter, that he wasn’t interested in the Christmas spirit. They blamed Colin. Colin, who had taken Harry back with the agreement to be “semi-exclusive,” which meant he could still fool around with whomever he chose, but if Harry came around he got first dibs. In his pain over losing the boy he wanted, he had run back to the boy who didn’t want him, not the way he wanted to be wanted.

Harry had even resorted to using Draco’s name in vain to get his way. He lied blatantly, mentioning him around Colin when he felt like he needed leverage. If Colin didn’t want to go out, Harry would wonder aloud whether Draco was available. If Colin paid too much attention to another man at the pub, Harry shared false stories of Draco’s affections. Their whole semi-relationship was built around a structure of lies about Draco Malfoy.

Which, to be honest, made it even harder not to think about him.

The whole world seemed to conspire to keep Draco on his mind. At that moment at the Leaky Cauldron, his friends were giggling mercilessly about a feature in the Daily Prophet gossip column about the top five most eligible wizard bachelors, of which Harry had been granted the first slot. It turned out his meager business venture sounded romantic to the general public, which somehow upped his eligibility, in spite of the fact that he was still sharing a small flat above the shotgun storefront between the milliner and the owl healer.

“Ooh la la,” Neville fluttered his eyelashes mockingly as Luna read the paper’s argument for his desirability.

“Who else is on the list?” Ginny asked, hooking her finger over the edge of the paper and having a peek.

“Oh here’s one,” Luna smiled placidly. “Number four, Draco Malfoy.”

“What?” Ron squeaked. “Since when is a Death Eater an eligible bachelor?”

“It says his family has worked hard to rebuild their name by supporting many charities,” Luna scanned the column for factoids. “He’s also in law school now.”

“Oh that’s rich,” Dean snorted.

Harry buried his face in his pint, wondering if he could literally drown in it and put himself out of his misery.

“It says this might be the only year he appears on the list,” Luna added with an intrigued lilt. “Apparently he’s been linked with Astoria Greengrass and the Prophet expects them to be married by this time next year.”

Harry’s head swam. He slumped over and lost his balance, toppling like a ragdoll to the floor. His friends jumped up to help him but his ears were too full of static to hear what they were saying. He laid on the floor, looking up at the rough hewn beams that supported the ceiling of the Leaky Cauldron and he smiled. His friends formed a ring around him, trying to elicit a response. Hermione looked angry, Luna looked worried, Ginny looked scared. And the boys, Ron, Neville and Dean, they looked annoyed. And Harry just smiled.

He wondered whether Colin was free tonight. And then he passed out.

His mind had become a camera, taking snapshots and storing them away. A shot here of Ron and Dean hoisting him to his feet. A shot there of Hermione shouting directions as they lost their grip. A shot of the cobblestone road as he lay slumped and lifeless. A shot of Ron carrying him by his arms and Neville carrying him by his legs towards P&T Muggle Adventures.

When his brain kicked back into record he was lying in his bed, still fully clothed with the blanket tucked up under his chin. His friends crowded around him in the small space, their faces lit by the single lamp on the bedside table.

"Harry," Hermione was saying gently. "Talk to us."

"What's wrong, Harry," Dean asked. He was the only one who was seated. He'd brought in a chair from the dinette set and had set it near the head of the bed.

"Draco," Harry croaked.

"What?" Hermione frowned.

"I hooked up with Draco Malfoy," Harry said weakly, pushing up his glasses and covering his eyes in humiliation.

"When? When you took them on holiday?" Dean sounded surprised. "You hooked up with a guest? And you accused me of fooling around with those girls!"

"I know," Harry moaned miserably. "It should have never happened. But it did."

"And?" Hermione knew there was more to the story. Harry knew that tone well.

"And nothing," he sighed. "The trip ended and he left."

"And?"

"And I thought maybe there was more to it than he did," Harry's voice hardened. "He left to study abroad and told me not to wait for him. And I didn’t, but Colin doesn't care about me, and I'm pining over Draco fucking Malfoy, and he's getting married to Astoria fucking Greengrass." It all tumbled out in a rush.

"But it was just a hookup," Ron sounded confused. Harry wished he could bury himself under the covers.

"It wasn't a hookup," Luna said knowingly. "Not for Harry."

"Then maybe it wasn't for Malfoy, either," Neville added hopefully. "These things are rarely one sided."

"They're always one sided for me," Harry said bitterly, finally dropping his hand and glaring at his friends. "I know I've said I'm okay with this semi-exclusive thing with Colin, but I'm not. It's just," he had to pause as a lump threatened to swell up in his throat. "It's all I can get. It's all I'm worth."

"You need to break up with Colin," Hermione said angrily. "You've let him destroy your confidence."

"We were exclusive," Ginny said gently as she sat on the edge of the bed. "I thought you were worth it."

Harry couldn't fight it back, not with a belly full of drink and Ginny looking at him in that sorrowful way. His face crumbled and the tears he'd crushed down since August came spilling out. Ginny folded her arms around his head and drew him to her, shushing and rocking him like a baby.

He was vaguely aware of the rest of his friends filing out as Ginny held him and comforted him. Eventually she sat him up straight and took his face in her hands.

"You are worth more," she said firmly. "You are worth more, Harry Potter." She removed his glasses and cleaned them on the hem of her shirt, then slipped them back onto his face. "You know, it always bothered me that people called you The Boy Who Lived. It makes your life sound like its only about one moment. I always thought they should call you The Boy Who Lives, because you're still here and you have so much more ahead of you. You can’t give up so easily. And you shouldn’t settle for something that isn’t right just because it feels safer than being alone. You’re worth so much more than that."

"Thank you, Ginny," he tried to give her a brave smile.

"Will you break up with Colin?" she asked.

"Yes," Harry didn't mention that it would hardly constitute a breakup. “I don’t even really like him,” he laughed ruefully.

But his friends were right, he had let himself get wrapped up in something that wasn't good for him. He had gotten wrapped up in it when he was first figuring out who he was. And he was just getting healthy about it, just getting his confidence back when Draco came along. He got a glimpse of what a relationship could be like with someone who really reciprocated when it all came to a sudden and startling end. And when he left Harry had descended back into Colin's grip, where every moment spent with him eroded his confidence just a little bit more.

“If Draco came back,” Ginny wondered. “Would you still want to be with him?”

Harry nodded miserably.

“Then maybe you need to tell him that,” she suggested.

“No,” Harry shook his head vigorously. “He’s the one who said he wouldn’t ask me to wait.”

“Is that what he said?” she looked surprised. “Did he tell you not to wait or did he say he wouldn’t ask you to wait? Because those are two different things.”

“He said,” Harry frowned. What exactly had he said? “He said he would be gone for four months and he didn’t want me to feel like I had to wait for him.”

“Oh Harry,” Ginny’s eyes welled up. “He wasn’t breaking up with you, he was giving you a way out if you didn’t want to stay.”

“What?” Harry sat up, and stared at her intensely. “No, that’s not it. He said--” he stopped and ran the conversation over in his head again.

“Harry,” Ginny grasped his hands in hers. “He didn’t break up with you, you broke up with him.”

The epiphany hit Harry like a Cruciatus Curse. First it was a pain in his chest, then an ache in his stomach, then his head hurt. He remembered the way Draco's eyes had reddened at their goodbye. Now he realized he had probably seemed cruelly cold, detached and disinterested.

Bloody Merlin. He had done to Draco what Colin had done to him.

He knew he was still too pissed to do anything about it right away. So he slept it off and the next morning he composed a letter to send by owl. He couldn't be sure where Draco was, so he simply directed it to Malfoy Manor. Knowing it could be read by his parents, he chose to keep the note simple and neutral.

What he wanted to say was:

_Dear Draco fucking Malfoy - Please come back, you sodding prat. I miss your mouth. Love, Saint bloody Potter_

What he wrote was:

_Draco - Please visit P &T Muggle Adventures when you return from your travels. Sincerely, Harry Potter_

Three days passed before he heard back. In that time he took a nice couple on a weekend tour of London and worked with Dean to develop a holiday package. When he returned to Diagon Alley Dean had a letter waiting for him.

_To Mister Potter: We received your letter to Draco and wanted to inform you that we do not currently have any information on his intended date of return. If he chooses to return for winter break we will be certain to pass your note along to him. Happy Christmas, Narcissa Malfoy_

Harry's heart sank. It sounded like he might not return at all. Which would be terrible, because he had no way to know how to find him in Europe.

He went cold turkey from Colin. He ended it by text message during his last trip muggle-side and he successfully ignored all of his return calls and texts. It helped that he had the support of his friends. He felt better than he had in ages. It was amazing what a difference it made to know he deserved better. To truly know he deserved better, rather than wishing he did.

He thought about it a lot as Christmas drew near. He decided it was okay to want a relationship. That it was okay to want to settle down at nineteen. But trying to force-fit a relationship with someone who didn't want it was not the road to happiness. So he found a place of balance with it. He was with no one for now. No washroom hookups, no bathroom blowies, and certainly no contact with Colin. It meant he’d had to give up The Magic Hat, but he thought maybe that was for the best, too.

And when the right person came along, then it would be right. No self-doubt, no nausea and anxiety, it would just fit.

And yes, maybe he had found someone like that already, and maybe he had screwed up and driven him away because he had needed to be the rejector instead of the rejectee. And that was a regret he would have to learn to live with. But he would learn to live with it with support from his friends.

And besides, as Hermione pointed out, if Draco was really marrying Astoria Greengrass, he couldn't have been very gay to begin with. Harry doubted her logic, but he liked her thinking. It made the whole thing hurt less.

P&T Muggle Adventures was busy during the second half of December. Their holiday package was a two night stay with an emphasis on seeing the various Christmas lights strung around the city’s tourist centers. They were booked solid, and even ran a few bookings overlapped, with one group staying on the second floor and one group staying on the third. Still no honeymooners, though. Harry wondered if Draco had been right about that one.

They finally got a break in the middle of the week just before Christmas eve. They had deliberately blocked out Christmas itself so they could spend time with family, or in Harry’s case, the Weasleys. And actually, Dean would be attending Christmas at the Weasley’s, too, thanks to Ginny’s insistence. Harry wondered if every wizard’s path eventually lead through the Burrow.

The night before Christmas Eve Harry headed over to Twelve Grimmauld Place with a host of cleaning supplies for the few tasks Mrs. Weasley’s charms couldn’t do. He set the kitchen to scrubbing, got the bathrooms going, Scourgified the floors, walls and windows, and was in the middle of re-sorting the clothing racks in the dressing room when he heard Dean call through the Floo.

“Harry! Are you there?” Dean’s voice shouted across the hall.

“Right here,” Harry darted into the drawing room with an armful of ladies’ dresses. “What do you need?”

“We have a last minute booking,” Dean said, his face emerging just above the glowing embers. Harry wondered fleetingly if he would get cell reception if he stuck his arm through the Floo.

“For when?”

“For tonight and tomorrow night,” Dean said, his voice hopeful.

“But that means doing a group on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day,” Harry pointed out.

“I know,” Dean said apologetically. “But we can charge a premium for that.”

“Are you volunteering to give up your holiday?” Harry snorted. “Of course not, otherwise why would you be calling instead of just booking it.”

“Would you?” Dean asked. “I’ve got to be at the Burrow for Ginny.”

“Your Christmas is more important than mine?” Harry was reminded of his annoyance over the pretty witches during the summer.

“No,” Dean sounded frustrated now. “I just really think we should take this booking. Please, mate. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Fine,” Harry said flatly. “Make sure you charge them through the nose, though. And tell Mrs. Weasley that I’m sorry I won’t be able to attend.”

“She’ll understand,” Dean said quickly. “Thank you.”

“When are they arriving?”

“Any minute now,” Dean said. “Are you all set over there?”

“I suppose so,” Harry frowned. “I’m a bit light in the pantry but I can manage.”

“I’ll send him through as soon as he gets here,” Dean said quickly, then withdrew from the Floo.

Harry grumbled and went back to his sorting. The last guests had jumbled up all of the clothing so the menswear and the eveningwear and the children’s clothing were all mixed up. He was kneeling in front of a pile of trousers when something odd tickled his memory.

“I’ll send him through as soon as he gets here.”

That was an odd way to say it, Harry thought. He was certain Dean had said it was a group. Of course it was a group, no one went on a muggle adventure by himself. He must have misspoken. He scooped up a stack of floral dresses and started hanging them in a row from one of the racks. Unless he hadn’t misspoken, in which case someone was coming to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day by himself in London. Or rather, not by himself, with Harry. What kind of person would do that?

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t do it.

He heard the telltale whoosh of the Floo and he froze, rooted to the spot, too afraid to go see who it was.

“Harry?”

Oh. Hold on, there. Don’t get your hopes up.

“Harry, are you here?”

A figure appeared in the doorway. Neat blond hair styled perfectly in place, long black double-breasted coat with epaulettes and brass buttons, crisply shined black leather shoes that looked like they had never seen an inch of snow. And a smile that crinkled at the corners of his eyes.

“Hi.”

Harry dropped the armful of dresses and ran to him. Draco swept him up in his arms and hugged him furiously. Harry laughed, because how could he not laugh?

“What are you doing here?” Harry gasped with the only air remaining in his lungs.

“I just got back,” Draco said into his shoulder. “I came straight away.”

“Did you get my letter?”

“No,” Draco released him just enough to look at him with confusion.

“Oh,” Harry shrugged. “I sent a letter.”

“What did it say?”

“It said to come by,” Harry smiled.

“Ah,” Draco nodded. “Well I came by.”

“Good.”

Draco’s eyes were the softest, clearest gray. He was still smiling, but there was something hesitant in his body language, something that needed permission but couldn’t ask. Harry remembered the way he had pushed Draco away when they’d said goodbye and knew he had put that hesitation there between them.

“Draco,” he said softly, still clinging to the other boy like he might try to leave again. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have left things the way I did.”

“It was my fault,” Draco shook his head. “I’ve thought a lot about it over the last few months. I made you think I was saying I didn’t want you.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions,” Harry insisted. “And I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“Well,” Draco cocked his head. “Maybe we’re both just pants at this sort of thing.”

“Maybe so,” Harry laughed. He searched Draco’s eyes for an invitation and finally simply had to ask, “Can I kiss you now?”

“You may,” Draco said haughtily as Harry closed the distance between them.

Harry kissed Draco with the pain and fire of four months of yearning. All of the anxiety and stress and sorrow he’d been carrying around in the pit of his stomach dissolved and washed away. Draco kissed him back with the same intensity, the same agony of distance, the same powerful desire that had been so rudely interrupted when they were forced to return to their real lives. Here in twelve Grimmauld Place the past four months could fall away. They could start exactly where they had left off, because their real lives hung suspended on the other side of the Floo.

Harry’s hands moved on their own. They unbuttoned the long, heavy coat and pushed it back from his shoulders. He kissed Draco deeply as his fingers explored the black cashmere sweater that simply had to come off. And why in Merlin’s name was he wearing another shirt under that sweater? How many layers did he need, anyway?

Draco pushed Harry’s sweater vest up over his head and fumbled with the buttons of his oxford shirt. He broke off from kissing and furrowed his brow as the third button refused to slip free. Finally he yanked and the button popped off, clattering across the floor.

“That’s why Reparo exists,” he muttered, then seized Harry’s mouth in another kiss as he worked the remaining buttons.

Harry walked him backwards towards the door, and then drew him by the hand up three flights of stairs to the top floor. Their pace quickened as they reached Harry’s room and the last stretch was a mad dash to the bed. Draco pressed Harry to the mattress and finally stripped his shirt free, then went to work on his trousers. Harry yanked Draco’s undershirt off and moaned gratefully at the sight of his lithe, muscled chest. He’d dreamt about this chest. And those shoulders. And those arms.

Draco won the race and had Harry field-stripped first. Not to be outdone, Harry shoved Draco’s trousers down and swept them to the floor in one go. For a moment they laid together, reveling in the amazing warmth of skin on skin. Harry felt a lump rise in his throat that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his eyes feeling dangerously prickly.

“I missed you, too,” Draco whispered back, his smile somewhat strained. Harry realized how wrong he had been to assume he’d found another Colin, someone who only wanted him half as much as he was wanted. He could see it in Draco’s eyes, he had fallen for Harry the same way Harry had fallen for him.

“How?” Harry asked, running his fingers up Draco’s bare back. “How do five days matter so much?”

“I don’t know,” Draco shook his head. “But I’ve hardly thought of anything else since.”

“Are you back for good?”

“Yes,” Draco kissed him gently. “No more international courses.”

He ran his fingers up Harry’s thigh and squeezed his hip. Harry’s cock was already hard, but the firm contact made him pulse against Draco’s groin. Harry stroked his hands down Draco’s back to his arse and lightly traced along his crease. Draco inhaled appreciatively and his eyelids fluttered. Harry rolled them over in one motion so that he was lying on top. He reached between them and cupped Draco’s bollocks, pressing just the tips of his fingers into his perineum. Draco groaned and tipped his head back luxuriously. Harry dipped his mouth and flicked his tongue across Draco’s nipple as he explored with his fingers, his confidence growing as the other boy writhed with pleasure.

He moved his hips slowly, pushing his cock against Draco’s, reveling in the simple pleasure of contact. He moved his hand up between them to grasp both cocks in one hand, then stroked together, running lightly over the tips and catching both beads of precum on one finger. Draco caught Harry’s chin in his hand and drew him up to his mouth so he could explore with his tongue. Harry pushed his hand down between them again and traced his puckered entrance, his body alert for any sign of approval.

Draco nodded almost imperceptibly without breaking the kiss and Harry slipped his finger into the moist warm channel. Draco moaned into Harry’s mouth, and his hands went still for a moment, as though he had temporarily forgotten how to move. Harry moved slowly, gently, not wanting to push too fast and cause the other boy pain. As he felt the muscle walls relax he slipped in a second finger and worked sensually as they kissed.

He reached down and hooked Draco’s leg over his arm and pushed it up towards his chest, improving his access. The third finger entered without resistance and Draco’s hands returned to life. He grasped Harry’s arse as though pulling him in, as though he could direct his cock remotely. Harry chuckled and slipped his hand free, murmured the protection and lubrication charms and then pushed forward. Draco exhaled sharply as Harry entered, then nodded vigorously as Harry started to move. His gray eyes opened and he stared up at Harry in slack-jawed transcendent bliss, which only made Harry bolder. He thrust faster, deeper, grasping Draco’s cock between them and stroking with long, languid pulls.

They both grunted in rhythm, their eyes locked on one another, heat rising between them as Harry thrust. He could feel the climax starting to simmer, rolling up from deep within his groin. Every inch of his body tingled as sweat beaded along his brow and between his thighs. Draco clawed at his back, completely lost in the thrall of stimulation, and Harry could feel him throb as he rose dramatically towards orgasm.

Suddenly Draco’s back arched and he breathed out in a long sustained moan that rasped from the back of his throat. Harry pushed and pushed and stroked as Draco came in the space between them. Harry came only a moment later, his forehead pressed against Draco’s and his eyes squeezed shut as the firestorm of orgasm swept through him.

They gradually slowed and then finally, with a shudder that wracked his whole body, Harry slipped free. Draco dipped his hand over the side of the bed and found his wand for a quick clean-up charm, and then he rolled Harry into his arms.

“Sweet mother of Merlin,” he said.

“That’s what I was going to say,” Harry replied.


	12. Chapter 12

They laid together quietly for a few minutes, catching their breath and enjoying the sizzling remnants of good sex. Snow was falling outside of the window, big clumps of flakes that would accumulate quickly and make the roads unnavigable. The afternoon sun was dipping towards the western sky with a gradual dimming that would eventually drive them from the bed to turn on lights or force them to sleep. They eventually chose to get up.

They touched a lot while getting dressed, reassuring, glancing touches just because they could. They padded down the stairs in their stocking feet and made their way to the kitchen. Harry basked in the comforting familiarity of the sound of Draco descending behind him. He marveled again at the impact those few days had made on him. Draco’s eyes lit up as he entered, and he smiled around at the comfortable space. He strode over to the dumbwaiter and traced his hand over the control buttons.

“Oh how I missed you,” he cooed.

“Do you miss any of the groceries your family bought?” Harry asked as he plugged in the tea kettle. “We still have bags of crisps in there from your trip.”

“”Still good?”

“Those things never go bad.”

“Maybe I should bring one home to my parents as a peace offering,” Draco grimaced as he flopped down at the large table.

“Rough patch?” Harry asked mildly, thinking about Narcissa’s note and its lack of information about his date of return.

“It turns out we may not have been as subtle as we thought,” Draco traced his finger along the wood grain. “Auntie Gliese knew about us. I’m not sure how but she knew. And she let it slip.” He shrugged tolerantly, “It wasn’t intentional, but my parents heard her and became very cross.”

“And here I thought I had won them over,” Harry poured the tea and set a cup in front of Draco.

“It’s not that,” Draco sipped and grimaced. “Where’s the sugar?”

“Almost forgot,” Harry grimaced in return. He wandlessly waved the sugar bowl over as he retrieved the milk from the fridge.

“Showy prat,” Draco muttered, snatching the sugar out of the air. He dumped in several scoops and poured in enough milk that the cup nearly overflowed.

“Next time I’ll pour a cup of milk and sugar and let you add the tea last,” Harry said.

“It’s not you,” Draco continued. “It’s their desire for an heir. A pureblood heir. That nonsense hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“I heard Astoria Greengrass is available,” Harry said mildly, remembering the article in the Daily Prophet.

“They wish,” Draco snorted. “Her family originated that rumor. I’m sure my parents would be perfectly happy with that choice, but there’s no truth to it.”

“Oh,” Harry knew the relief showed on his face.

“Come now,” Draco sneered, showing a bit of the old rival Harry had known during their school days. “Saint Potter forgot what rubbish the Daily Prophet prints? I mean, really. Most eligible bachelor? Please,” his eyes sparkled devilishly.

They went out in the evening to walk in the snow, not comfortable enough with inclement weather and motorcars to hail a taxi. Draco suggested popping over to The Magic Hat and had to duck when Harry took a swing at him.

“So you’re still done with that bartender tosser?” Draco asked.

“Yes,” Harry rolled his eyes. “Again.”

“‘You went back to him?” Draco sneered.

“You left,” Harry said miserably. “And he said it would be different.”

“Was it?”

“Not particularly, no,” Harry scuffled his boots through the slush.

“But you’re done now,” Draco paused. He had snowflakes caught in his hair and eyelashes.

“I’m done now,’ Harry said firmly. “I was done with him whether or not you came back.”

“Good,” Draco regarded him pompously. “You know I don’t like to share.”

“What about you, did you see anyone?” Harry winced as soon as he asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“No,” Draco chuckled. “If you saw my classmates you’d understand.”

“You have been with other men than me, right?” Harry slipped his arm through Draco’s.

“A few.”

“Did you ever tell anyone from school?”

“No,” Draco said as though the idea were completely daft. “Well, Blaise Zabini knew.”

“How did he know?”

“He probably figured it out when I fucked him,” Draco said lightly.

“Blaise is queer?” Harry couldn’t believe his ears.

“No,” Draco laughed. “But he thought he might like to make sure.” He smiled distantly at the memory. “He thought we were two straight boys experimenting together, forever bound to keep each other’s dirty secret.” He shook his head, “I corrected his assumption but he never told anyone out of fear that I would expose him.”

“Slytherins,” Harry said as though it explained everything.

The phone in his pocket dinged and he reached in to silence it. They continued along, walking in the snow, getting colder by the minute but enjoying the sights. Harry’s mobile dinged again.

“What in the name of Salazar is happening in your trousers, Potter?” Draco finally turned on him with outrage.

“It’s just my mobile,” Harry said dismissively.

“Why is it chiming at you? That’s the fifth time since we left,” Draco folded his arms across his chest and Harry suspected a declaration of inelegance couldn’t be far from his lips.

“It’s a text message,” Harry said. “It means someone is sending me letters, but instead of by owl they’re going straight to my mobile.”

“Thank you, Potter, I was able to pick that up from the context clues,” Draco held his hand out expectantly. “Give it to me. Who is messaging you?”

Harry sighed and slipped the phone from his pocket. He called up the message list and handed it to Draco.

“Colin,” Draco pressed his lips together. “I thought you said you were done with him.”

“I am,” Harry said. “But he’s not done with me, I guess. He’s been messaging like this since I broke it off.”

Draco touched the screen and figured out how to scroll through the previous messages. Over and over, day after day, the same request for Harry to call him with no reply.

“How do I text him back?” Draco poked at the screen.

“Don’t answer, you’ll just encourage him,” Harry covered the mobile with his hand.

“Ignoring him clearly isn’t working. It just makes him want to wear you down more,” Draco looked up with a raised eyebrow. “I know his type. I used to be his type.”

Harry sighed and pressed the reply button. The keyboard popped up and Harry showed him how it worked. It took him longer than it should have to hunt and peck the right letters, but eventually he wrote a short note and hit the send button.

“What did you say?”

“I said this is Draco Malfoy, please stop messaging my boyfriend,” Draco said smugly.

“Am I your boyfriend now?” Harry couldn’t suppress a pleased grin.

“Don’t be daft, Potter, of course you are,” Draco said in his best sharp tone, echoing the hostilities of their schooldays. Harry would have bridled if not for the smirk on his lips.

Just then the phone rang. Harry snatched it back and pressed the ignore button. It immediately rang again.

“What is happening now?” Draco asked, his eyes wide and alarmed by the sound.

“He’s calling me. He wants to talk directly,” Harry struggled to distinguish the function.

“Give it to me,” Draco beckoned with his hand. “How do I turn it on?”

“Press here, then hold it to your ear and say hello,” Harry cringed as Draco followed his instructions. Oh Merlin, this was either going to be very entertaining or horrible to watch.

“Hello,” Draco said into the phone. His eyes widened as a voice spoke in his ear. “Tell me your name first,” he commanded. “Colin, yes, this is Draco Malfoy. No you may not.”

He listened with a raised eyebrow while Harry paced anxiously. He should have kept the phone. He didn’t mind ignoring it. It would have stopped eventually.

“Yes, I understand your disappointment,” Draco said condescendingly. “I suggest you summon whatever shred of self-respect you have left and move on with your life.” He nodded, even though the other man couldn’t see him, “That’s a consequence I’m prepared to live with.” He listened and nodded again, “Colin, I’m done talking to you. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you this, but you bollocksed it up properly and now you’re going to have to spend the rest of your life wondering what you missed out on. And as the better man, I can assure you that you’ve made no bigger mistake than letting Harry get away. Now bugger off and stop calling.”

He handed the phone dismissively to Harry, who scrambled to disconnect the call.

“Well, I’m banned for life from The Magic Hat,” Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and gazed thoughtfully off into the distance. “I’ll need some time to grieve, of course.”

Harry stared at the phone, expecting it to ring again. When it remained silent he looked up in disbelief. “You’re an utter prat,” he said reverently. He grabbed Draco’s hand and roughly pulled him in for a kiss.

“That,” Draco pointed at the bulge in Harry’s pocket where the mobile was, “is the height of inelegance. But I will admit it’s convenient.”

“I’m freezing my arse off,” Harry stepped back towards the house. “Let’s go warm up.”

They spent most of Christmas Eve keeping each other warm, even inside the adequately heated house. As Harry had mentioned to Dean the pantry was low on supplies, but with some creativity they were able to put together a few reasonably satisfying meals. Christmas dinner would be a stretch, though.

On Christmas morning Draco poked Harry awake. And not the good kind of poke, the kind that was a finger in Harry’s ribcage. He squinted and opened his eyes, swiping his hand feebly at the intrusion.

“Sod off, Malfoy,” he grumbled, then realized why Draco was poking him. There was singing coming from downstairs. Not one or two voices, but several, coming from Inside of the house.

“Someone has come a-wassailing,” Draco said dryly.

“Do you know what this is about?” Harry sat up, suddenly very self conscious about his nudity. There were unknown people in his house, and his knob was exposed.

“How would I know what this is about?” Draco rubbed his face grumpily. “What kind of people intrude on Christmas morning before I’ve had a proper cup of coffee?”

“Harry! Malfoy! I hope you’re decent!” a familiar voice shouted up the stairs.

“Ron,” Harry said.

“Weasel,” Draco said at the same time.

Harry scrambled out of the bed and found something to throw on. Draco grumbled about having to face Harry’s friends in the previous night’s clothes, without a shower, and before he’d had his coffee. Harry planted a kiss on his mouth to shut him up. They descended the stairs, following the sound of the singing until they reached the drawing room.

Ron, Hermione, Dean, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and Seamus were standing in the middle of the room, bundled up for the cold, bellowing Christmas carols.

“Happy Christmas!” Hermione shouted as they entered. They applauded, although Harry wasn’t sure whether they were applauding for Harry and Draco or for themselves.

“Happy Christmas,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“We thought we’d pop by and see how you were getting on,” Dean said with a smug smile. He had clearly orchestrated their little musical ambush. “Alright, Malfoy?”

“Alright, Thomas,” Draco nodded respectfully.

Suddenly a thought occurred to Harry. “Did you know the Christmas reservation was Draco before he arrived?”

“Of course I did,” Dean smiled. “He came in looking for you so I told him he should book the house for three days.”

“Is he charging you?” Harry asked Draco.

“Through the nose,” Draco said pointedly. He yawned and stretched and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “This is brilliant but I need coffee. Anyone else? No? Okay.” he slouched out of the room and the sound of his feet receded.

Harry’s friends suspended the conversation until Draco was well out of earshot. Then they descended all at once.

“How is it going?”

“Are you together now?”

“Is it strange?”

“Has Colin come around?”

“Does he know about Colin?”

“Don’t mention Colin.”

“It’s going well,” Harry waved them back. “We’re together now. It’s not strange. Colin was done weeks ago, you know that.”

“So,” Ron looked confused. “This is really going to be a thing?”

“It’s really a thing,” Harry nodded apologetically. “Merry Christmas, Ron, I got you a Malfoy.”

“Just what I always wanted,” Ron grimaced comically.

Harry’s friends peeled off their winter gear and sat around the drawing room. Draco came back up the stairs a few minutes later with a coffee mug in hand and a placid expression on his face. He squeezed in next to Harry on the fainting couch and raised the mug to the room.

“Cheers,” he said, and took a long pull. “Elixir of life.”

“Are you two coming to the Burrow for Christmas supper?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry looked at Draco questioningly. “I hadn’t thought about it.”

“Is anyone really okay with that suggestion?” Draco looked pained. “Or are we going for some kind of Guinness World Record for most awkward holiday?”

“It won’t be that bad,” Ginny said. “A bit bumpy for the first minute but fine after that.”

“Mm,” Draco hummed noncommittally as he took another sip.

“Unless you have your own family’s Christmas supper to attend,” Hermione added.

“Not bloody likely,” Draco frowned. “I do need to get over there and patch things up at some point, but not today.”

“Then you’ll come,” Hermione smiled winningly. “Brilliant, we’ll let Molly know.”

“I didn’t say--” Draco’s eyes widened as Harry’s friends all stood en masse and reassembled their outdoor gear.

“It’s decided,” Harry shrugged helplessly. “Get used to it, you’re part of this group now.”

“Bloody Merlin,” Draco palmed his face and shook his head.

Their guests all filed out through the Floo, one by one until they were all gone. Harry and Draco sat on the fainting couch in silence, equally bemused by the morning’s surprise. Draco gazed thoughtfully into his mug and then finally tugged Harry to his feet.

“Breakfast. Now,” he dragged Harry behind him.

They had to scrounge for something to eat, which made a strong argument for visiting the Burrow for supper. Harry taught Draco a few of Molly Weasley's cleaning spells, although he protested that he should never need that sort of knowledge, and then they went upstairs to finish prepping the house. Harry hung the remaining clothing items in the dressing room and checked to make sure the beds had finished refreshing themselves. The loos were all clean, and soon enough they were ready to go.

Pausing in front of the fireplace, Harry knew they were both thinking about their last departure from Grimmauld Place. Draco was pensive and withdrawn, his eyes shadowed and evasive.

"What if," he paused and seemed unable to continue. Harry could tell he was feeling vulnerable, a very uncomfortable place for a Malfoy to be.

"What if nothing," Harry said, hoping to cover the gamut of whatever was bothering him.

"What if this only works here?" Draco insisted. "Everything is out of context here. How can we go back and not have to deal with the past?"

"We started over," Harry said simply.

"But everyone else didn't."

"Everyone else can piss off," Harry said, his sharp tone very Malfoyish in that moment.

A grin broke across Draco’s face. "I'm rubbing off on you, Potter."

Harry smirked and threw his handful of powder into the fireplace. The viridian flames leapt to life and crackled invitingly. Harry announced his destination and stepped through.

P&T Muggle Adventures was cold and empty, and the windows at the end of the long unit looked out onto the snowy street outside. Diagon Alley was deserted, closed up for the holiday, waiting in quiet anticipation of the Boxing Day crowds that would descend in the morning.

Harry walked to the windows and gazed outside, marveling at the rare sight of untrampled sidewalks and shuttered shopfronts. The fireplace whooshed behind him and a moment later two arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders. His stomach fluttered. The last time they were here together they had parted ways painfully. This time Harry's heart overflowed with something he was still too shy to name.

Draco hugged in closer behind him and rubbed their cheeks together, his whisper-fine stubble rasping lightly against Harry's coarser grain.

"I don't have anywhere to stay right now," Draco said suddenly, as though the thought had just occurred to him.

"I happen to have a boarding house in London that would suit you," Harry said, leaning into the other boy's touch. "Very reasonable rates."

"I am not living in a boarding house," Draco said in an uncompromising tone.

"The flat upstairs probably isn't up to your standards," Harry mused.

"Does it have a coffee pot?" Draco asked.

"Yes."

"Sold," Draco released him and folded his arms across his chest challengingly. He raised an imperious eyebrow, as though daring Harry to tell him he wasn't welcome to stay.

As though he would say that.

"I'll have Dean rewrite the cleaning schedule to fit you in," Harry said, holding his face as neutral as possible.

Draco's expression faltered. He searched Harry's eyes for sincerity and struggled to respond without outrage. Harry enjoyed seeing him work for the right words. Finally he couldn't hold back and laughed in his face.

"Right, then," Draco looked annoyed. "Very funny."

"I'm sorry, you looked so horrified," Harry laughed. "Come on, I'll show you the flat."

They trampled up the narrow stairwell and Draco went straight to the kitchen to confirm the presence of coffee. Then he went into Harry's room and laid down on the bed.

"This one is too small for two people," he declared. "We'll need an upgrade."

"Oh so now you're moving in for good?" Harry quirked an eyebrow. "We really will need to put you on the cleaning schedule."

"Rubbish," Draco snaked Harry's wrist and pulled him down next to him. They kissed and stroked each other for a bit and then laid quietly together.

"No really, you're going to have to clean the loo," Harry said.

"Then we're getting a maid."

"Dean might have something to say about all of this,"

"Thomas is going to marry the Weasley girl," Draco said dismissively.

"How can you tell?"

"How can you not?" Draco pushed himself up on his elbow. "I'll bet you five Galleons that he asks her father for her hand at supper tonight."

"So that means you're coming to the Burrow?" Harry said hopefully.

"Well I suppose that's the kind of thing I've signed on for, haven't I?"

"I love you," Harry blurted out without thinking. He immediately blushed bright red.

"Are you mad?" Draco asked tolerantly. "I know you're a Gryffindor but really. Think before you speak sometimes."

Harry blushed deeper and squirmed uncomfortably, but Draco held him firmly.

"Oh come on," Draco nudged his chin. "Don't act all embarrassed. I knew you were thinking it, you git."

"Bollocks," Harry grimaced.

"It's fine," Draco tipped Harry's chin with the crook of his finger and kissed him tenderly. "If I had been sorted into Gryffindor I might be tempted to say I love you, too," his eyes sparkled. "Good thing I wasn't."

A smile broke over Harry's face. "Say it for real," he said. "No joking."

It was Draco's turn to blush now. He took a breath, his eyes flicking around the room nervously. He was naked, not physically but in a way that was far more vulnerable. Harry knew for sure he was seeing something few other people on the planet had ever seen in him. He cleared his throat and recovered a tiny bit of composure, then lifted his chin proudly.

"I love you, too," he said softly, his voice rough.

"See?" Harry grinned. "This will work. It has to."

"You’re probably right," Draco agreed. "And if you forget, I know a pub in London where I can find you a reminder."

"You're banned for life, though."

"That's okay," Draco shrugged. "I’ll make sure you won't need a reminder."

Harry pulled him down and kissed him again. They laid quietly together, watching wind-borne wafts of snow drift off of the rooftop and flutter past the window. In the silence Harry could hear Draco’s breath, he could feel it in his hair. Draco gently stroked his arm with his thumb, and seemed in no hurry to get up anytime soon. The comforting warmth was soothing and soon Harry was drifting off, somewhere between awake and asleep, semi-aware that he was lying in bed but also dreaming.

He felt a delicious sensation spread through his scalp and rose back towards consciousness with a luxurious groan. Draco was pressing small kisses into his hair, nuzzling and tickling with his lips. Harry’s eyes fluttered open and he swallowed a small yawn. He felt so safe, so comfortable, so protected, so loved. He tipped his head and looked up into Draco’s eyes. Draco smiled and dropped a kiss onto the bridge of Harry’s nose.

“Alright, mate?” he asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Harry sighed happily. “Alright.”

THE END


End file.
